Yesterday Matt and I were at Target and I saw the school supplies section. For the first time EVER my instantaneous reaction, instead of a thrill of joy at the thought of school inching closer, was a sinking sense of dread. Oh no, school is creeping back up again. I really have to go back to that. I am so thankful that I don't have to be a first-year ever again, but I still have to go through the meat grinder a second time, just on a different setting. Like, really. I have to do that again. Except without Matt there for half of it. People are already asking me about whether or not I'm going to get the jump on Pathology, and school is still almost a month away. But that's not the worst thing. The worst thing is that I know they're right, and I should start studying for Path before the semester begins because in 2nd year your return is directly related to your investment, and so I probably will. Which means buying the textbook before I go visit my family and taking it with me so I have a good two weeks to get myself familiarised with the basics.
Now. I will probably love the material - I'll finally be learning the real doctor stuff - and so studying will probably go well. But I'm not even worried about that. I know I can study; that's not my problem. The problem is that I don't really want to do this again now that I know what I'm heading into. Like every other naive premed, med school was The Big Shiny, the most attractive thing we'd ever pursued. It pulled us through all kinds of juvenile sacrifices and even through the semi-wringer that is medical school admissions. And when I got that phone call I gave heartfelt thanks, because at last I had arrived. So I conveniently forgot that med school is a process, not a destination. And the process sucks. It beats as much out of you as it can: irresponsibility, yes, but also enthusiasm, compassion, empathy, human connection, drive, physical health, integrity, self-preservation, honesty, sanity... I refuse to let that stuff go, but I still feel the pull, and I know I can't retain my full capacity for everything while school is going.
I warned myself when I started this. 'Welcome to your new life,' I told myself when I began first year. 'This is the new normal.' And I repeated that a lot, in anger, in despair, with resolve and at times also with deep bitterness. But summer has been such an amazing reprieve that I forgot that I don't get to be this complete a person all the time. I've gotten to read books, sleep as much as I want, lose weight, shadow at two excellent medical missions, reconnect with my husband, move to a new apartment, play lots of video games, see all my friends... I have truly shed all of the awfulness of the last year; half the time it seems like a vivid nightmare because it has nothing to do with how awesome summer has been and will continue to be. But the trade-off is that I feel emotionally unprepared for the coming semester. I watched the class above me burst into their second year, certain that it would be fantastic - and then abruptly get crushed by the workload and the stress. To be sure, they handled it better than we firsties did our trials because they'd already been through it, but the demands on them were also correspondingly greater. Last year watching what they went through terrified me, and I think I'm afraid that I didn't learn enough, didn't toughen up enough, didn't ________ enough to be ready for this coming year.
Which ultimately brings me back to the other thing I repeated to myself constantly last year: it's a damn good thing none of this is in my hands.
Saturday, July 17
Saturday, June 5
Mission Trip to Copper Canyon
So. I need to write about this mission trip. I must confess, I'm sort of at a loss. It was such a big trip, both because we did so much and because I really came away changed. Where to start. Where... Well, since this was a trip to serve others, let's start with those others.
We went to Copper Canyon in Mexico. It's beyond rural, and it took us the better part of three days of driving/ flying to get there. Mexicans don't really live there; instead, it's sparsely populated by the Tarahumara people. I didn't link their name to anything because, to be honest, most of the information on the internet is incomplete at best and outright wrong at worst, and I won't perpetuate that sort of thing. These people are... unlike anyone I've ever met or heard about. A slightly expanded excerpt from my journal will help me to explain this; let me preface it by saying that I am not exaggerating...
"...The whole 'pure noble savage' thing is a load of crap. They believe that the Devil is strong and God is his [weaker, younger] brother, and that since God only made the Tarahumara [from pure clay] and the Devil made the rest of us [from clay mixed with ash, which is why we are lighter], it is their job to sustain God as best they can [with sacrifices and such.]... They don't know love really [for themselves or for one another; they don’t really have a lot of positive interactions with others.]... Their religion, day to day, mostly centers around a strong fermented corn beer they make, and so the bulk of their interactions consist of... getting blind drunk, fighting each other, and having sex [and thus alcoholism and liver cirrhosis and pregnant 14-year olds and people coming into the clinic busted up from fights are all common occurrences]. Tuberculosis is rampant, syphilis is passed down through multiple generations [both of which are fully treatable], and before the mission team got here, the infant mortality rate was above 50%. The illiteracy rate is 98% [which makes sense when you find out that most of them don't even speak Spanish, let alone read or write it, and there was no written form of their dialect until the mission team came along and made one], as is the math illiteracy rate... They live in one-room windowless, doorless shacks with corrugated steel roofs and, if they are lucky, cement floors. They have no furniture; the better off ones might have a small potbellied stove..."
They call outsiders, "chabochi," which Deb, one of the missionaries, was telling me means "foreigners" but also has tones of "demons." Mexicans, by the way, are included in this term. They live on subsistence farming, but there is a time every year where they old crops run out months before the new ones are ready to harvest, and at this time most Tarahumara travel to the cities for "sharing." Well. They call it sharing; we call it begging. In their belief system, anyone who has is obliged to share with anyone who does not have. It's a nice concept, but the execution of it is that no Tarahumara saves anything; they maintain themselves in a continuous state of having nothing besides the clothes on their backs so that they don't have anything to be forced to give away.
They are not a proud people, merely a shy one. The doctors at the clinic told my group that they have to be careful to never criticise, even if it's a mother who drinks too much to remember to feed her child or a promiscuous young lady who's prone to dangerous pregnancies, because the Tarahumara are so prone to shame that they will avoid a place that reminds them of how low they feel they are in the world, and so if a patient feels shamed s/he won't return for follow-up visits. And it's hard enough to get them to visit the clinic in the first place.
We had a patient with such advanced TB there were ping-pong ball sized holes in her lungs; some of my tripmates had to hike over an hour to bring her back on a stretcher. I met an older lady who didn't know what a puzzle was. There was a boy with TB in his liver, which is failing; he lives with one of the missionary couples now so they can give him his extremely expensive dialysis multiple times a day until, God willing, he gets a transplant. There was a little girl with burns on the bottom of her feet that had gotten infected enough to get into her blood and make her sick, and later a little boy with scabies (a parasite) that had infested his skin so totally he had impetigo (an itchy, scabby type of skin infection) literally covering his face. Two of my classmates had to clean off the infected outer layer of skin while he screamed so hard he passed out from exhaustion. This is the reality of that place. In the mountain hospital we went to there were all sorts of terrible injuries that the patients wouldn't explain; but since the cartels force Tarahumara in that area to farm drug crops, it's not too hard to imagine why that 19-year old got shot and is now a paraplegic or why that old man has a legbone that was shattered into five pieces.
Amid all of this desolation, the missionaries shine. Their lives aren't as hard as those of the people they serve, certainly; but all of them gave up successful lives to go and live indefinitely in this place and see these injuries day in and day out. They work hard not to judge and it seemed like they truly don't pity the Tarahumara; they simply want to see where they can help and then do so. Their hearts are so big; they just welcome everyone into their homes and treat them well. Above all, they heal their ills and educate them, the two things that no one else has been willing to do. I admire that. I want to do that someday. I can only hope that someday God blesses me with the chance to serve people like that.
So we didn’t sleep very much, ate too much (because you can’t meet Latinos anywhere without them trying to feed you), travelled constantly, and generally neglected ourselves. Everyone says that we were one of the hardest working groups to come through in a long time, but I only mention that to underscore the fact that none of us felt like we did much at all. It seemed like all we did was stand around and learn and ask questions and get taken care of. That’s God – when everyone comes away from a situation feeling like they never gave, only received.
Oh, and I lost my passport like the first day. Who knows how. I got back into the States by having my driver’s licence and speaking a lot of very dim-sounding, very American English. “Oh man, I don’t even know what happened! We were here for like a week and I swear I tried to pay attention to all my stuff but it just totally vanished! I’m so sorry, it’s so weird that it disappeared like that!” Shut UP, it worked, didn’t it?
Next stop: Memphis. From the 13-25 I will learn what an urban mission clinic looks like. And now I should probably sleep or something.
We went to Copper Canyon in Mexico. It's beyond rural, and it took us the better part of three days of driving/ flying to get there. Mexicans don't really live there; instead, it's sparsely populated by the Tarahumara people. I didn't link their name to anything because, to be honest, most of the information on the internet is incomplete at best and outright wrong at worst, and I won't perpetuate that sort of thing. These people are... unlike anyone I've ever met or heard about. A slightly expanded excerpt from my journal will help me to explain this; let me preface it by saying that I am not exaggerating...
"...The whole 'pure noble savage' thing is a load of crap. They believe that the Devil is strong and God is his [weaker, younger] brother, and that since God only made the Tarahumara [from pure clay] and the Devil made the rest of us [from clay mixed with ash, which is why we are lighter], it is their job to sustain God as best they can [with sacrifices and such.]... They don't know love really [for themselves or for one another; they don’t really have a lot of positive interactions with others.]... Their religion, day to day, mostly centers around a strong fermented corn beer they make, and so the bulk of their interactions consist of... getting blind drunk, fighting each other, and having sex [and thus alcoholism and liver cirrhosis and pregnant 14-year olds and people coming into the clinic busted up from fights are all common occurrences]. Tuberculosis is rampant, syphilis is passed down through multiple generations [both of which are fully treatable], and before the mission team got here, the infant mortality rate was above 50%. The illiteracy rate is 98% [which makes sense when you find out that most of them don't even speak Spanish, let alone read or write it, and there was no written form of their dialect until the mission team came along and made one], as is the math illiteracy rate... They live in one-room windowless, doorless shacks with corrugated steel roofs and, if they are lucky, cement floors. They have no furniture; the better off ones might have a small potbellied stove..."
They call outsiders, "chabochi," which Deb, one of the missionaries, was telling me means "foreigners" but also has tones of "demons." Mexicans, by the way, are included in this term. They live on subsistence farming, but there is a time every year where they old crops run out months before the new ones are ready to harvest, and at this time most Tarahumara travel to the cities for "sharing." Well. They call it sharing; we call it begging. In their belief system, anyone who has is obliged to share with anyone who does not have. It's a nice concept, but the execution of it is that no Tarahumara saves anything; they maintain themselves in a continuous state of having nothing besides the clothes on their backs so that they don't have anything to be forced to give away.
They are not a proud people, merely a shy one. The doctors at the clinic told my group that they have to be careful to never criticise, even if it's a mother who drinks too much to remember to feed her child or a promiscuous young lady who's prone to dangerous pregnancies, because the Tarahumara are so prone to shame that they will avoid a place that reminds them of how low they feel they are in the world, and so if a patient feels shamed s/he won't return for follow-up visits. And it's hard enough to get them to visit the clinic in the first place.
We had a patient with such advanced TB there were ping-pong ball sized holes in her lungs; some of my tripmates had to hike over an hour to bring her back on a stretcher. I met an older lady who didn't know what a puzzle was. There was a boy with TB in his liver, which is failing; he lives with one of the missionary couples now so they can give him his extremely expensive dialysis multiple times a day until, God willing, he gets a transplant. There was a little girl with burns on the bottom of her feet that had gotten infected enough to get into her blood and make her sick, and later a little boy with scabies (a parasite) that had infested his skin so totally he had impetigo (an itchy, scabby type of skin infection) literally covering his face. Two of my classmates had to clean off the infected outer layer of skin while he screamed so hard he passed out from exhaustion. This is the reality of that place. In the mountain hospital we went to there were all sorts of terrible injuries that the patients wouldn't explain; but since the cartels force Tarahumara in that area to farm drug crops, it's not too hard to imagine why that 19-year old got shot and is now a paraplegic or why that old man has a legbone that was shattered into five pieces.
Amid all of this desolation, the missionaries shine. Their lives aren't as hard as those of the people they serve, certainly; but all of them gave up successful lives to go and live indefinitely in this place and see these injuries day in and day out. They work hard not to judge and it seemed like they truly don't pity the Tarahumara; they simply want to see where they can help and then do so. Their hearts are so big; they just welcome everyone into their homes and treat them well. Above all, they heal their ills and educate them, the two things that no one else has been willing to do. I admire that. I want to do that someday. I can only hope that someday God blesses me with the chance to serve people like that.
So we didn’t sleep very much, ate too much (because you can’t meet Latinos anywhere without them trying to feed you), travelled constantly, and generally neglected ourselves. Everyone says that we were one of the hardest working groups to come through in a long time, but I only mention that to underscore the fact that none of us felt like we did much at all. It seemed like all we did was stand around and learn and ask questions and get taken care of. That’s God – when everyone comes away from a situation feeling like they never gave, only received.
Oh, and I lost my passport like the first day. Who knows how. I got back into the States by having my driver’s licence and speaking a lot of very dim-sounding, very American English. “Oh man, I don’t even know what happened! We were here for like a week and I swear I tried to pay attention to all my stuff but it just totally vanished! I’m so sorry, it’s so weird that it disappeared like that!” Shut UP, it worked, didn’t it?
Next stop: Memphis. From the 13-25 I will learn what an urban mission clinic looks like. And now I should probably sleep or something.
Thursday, May 13
Well, stick a fork in me and call me cake! i.e. I AM DONE
Well. First year is officially finished. As in "over." I passed all of my classes, so no remediation this summer. I don't really understand it yet. God was really telling me everything was going to be fine, but I insisted on worrying. And of course everything was fine. Anyway, I figured I'd give a little retrospective in a couple of different ways.
Classes:
- Anatomy, first semester. This class was fascinating - and gross. Yeah, I said it. I don't mind helping people out with anatomy next year, but I refuse to be a tutor, simply because I don't want to have to spend my afternoons in that lab ever again.
- Biochemistry, 1st sem. Less pleased here. This class wasn't taught very well. In fact, none of the classes are taught by 3+ professors have been good so far. They get very hit-and-miss because there's no continuity. I'm not sure that I learned much from this class long-term, even though I know I worked my butt off.
- Histology, 1st sem. I got a B in here too. I had a leg up here because I took this class in undergrad, which was without a doubt the best thing I've ever done for myself academically. Not having to climb the learning curve (which is steep) for this class during med school was... huge. I hated this class anyway, though.
- OMM I, 1st sem. I love OMM. It's amazing how the spine moves, how the pelvis is the center of motion, and on and on - and I am actually learning how to manipulate those structures. My fingertips are so much more sensitive now than they were last August, and I love it. This is something that, God willing, I'll be able to incorporate into whatever I end up doing.
- Diagnostic Imaging, 1st sem. I kind of hated this class, it seemed so made up. MRIs are not nearly as clear as doctors would have you think they are.
- Physiology, second semester. This was another one of those hit/miss classes, which is such a shame, because it was also fascinating. I know so much more about how the body works now - somewhat despite my professors.
- Microbiology, 2nd sem. I hated this class and I didn't learn much. I was extremely thankful to pass just so I wouldn't ever have to deal with the class again. The second years say you relearn the important parts next year anyway. Good! Stupid class.
- Clinical Skilz I, 2nd sem. I've never seen as many really disgusting pictures as I saw in this class. This was the first class I couldn't always study for while eating - too many purulent ulcers and necrotic wounds and super gross eye infections, etc. Don't get me wrong, it was awesome! But also full of ew. I gave my first female/ pelvic and male/ rectal exams in this class, and proved to myself that I can be comfortable in uncomfortable situations. And I now officially have a tiny bit of patient exposure. Yay!
- Neuroanatomy, 2nd sem. I was beyond thankful to pass this class as well. I have never worked so hard in a class for so little return. The crazy thing is that so much of that class is beyond the scope of what we will need to know for next year or boards (certification exams, just after second year). I'm really glad this class was as interesting as it was, because if I'd had two Microbiologies (hard and I hate learning it) my quality of life would have been significantly lower.
- OMM II, 2nd sem. This was even better than last semester, just because I know much more and my level of understanding is correspondingly deeper.
- Clinical Epidemiology, 2nd sem. This class taught us how to interpret studies for their validity and usefulness. I know a lot of people had issues with the material, and I agree that it was dense, but... [shrug] I suppose God just didn't designate this class as a burden for me. Which was nice.
- Medical Spanish I, 2nd sem. This was a fun class and I hopefully learned a lot of really useful stuff.
Obviously my classes were a mixed bag. Overall, I'd say I was really, really average this year. When the classes weren't too bad I did well, and when they were hard I struggled. But just like the majority of my classmates, I passed all of my classes and am definitely moving on to second year.
I'm not sure I ever really knew what it was like to work hard before this year. Sure, I worked hard in college, but I kept boundaries most of the time; I still took Saturday nights off, or refused to get up before a certain time, or insisted that meals be separate from studying. The first time I always read before class was my senior year, when I took - surprise! - histology, which is taught at the medical school level at my college. Other than that, never before have I had to be disciplined or consistent, the two things that medical school absolutely demands. Learning that was hard for me. And choosing new priorities was hard too. Gone are things like free time and leisure activities; they've been replaced with spending time with my husband, sleeping regularly, exercising, and trying to eat well. In that respect I feel like I've grown up a lot this past year.
At the same time, I have never had as many stress problems as I had this year. Sleeping and eating problems, emotional ups and downs... Towards the end of finals this spring, I started feeling like I had tiny bugs crawling on me - and since I'm definitely not on cocaine, the only other answer is that I was just so stressed out I was losing it. As Christians we have access to a joy that transcends life circumstances, but I can't say I reached that state regularly. It was just this ridiculous push-pull between me and God, where I would beg for His guidance and He would grant it, and then I would sleep in an extra 15 minutes, or I would get distracted when I could feel the Holy Spirit all but reading my notes to me. So was this semester a time of spiritual strength or weakness? I don't know, but God is faithful no matter where I am.
I'm glad to be finished. And now for the reward: SUMMER! This Saturday I go to Mexico for my first ever mission trip, and I'm really excited.
Classes:
- Anatomy, first semester. This class was fascinating - and gross. Yeah, I said it. I don't mind helping people out with anatomy next year, but I refuse to be a tutor, simply because I don't want to have to spend my afternoons in that lab ever again.
- Biochemistry, 1st sem. Less pleased here. This class wasn't taught very well. In fact, none of the classes are taught by 3+ professors have been good so far. They get very hit-and-miss because there's no continuity. I'm not sure that I learned much from this class long-term, even though I know I worked my butt off.
- Histology, 1st sem. I got a B in here too. I had a leg up here because I took this class in undergrad, which was without a doubt the best thing I've ever done for myself academically. Not having to climb the learning curve (which is steep) for this class during med school was... huge. I hated this class anyway, though.
- OMM I, 1st sem. I love OMM. It's amazing how the spine moves, how the pelvis is the center of motion, and on and on - and I am actually learning how to manipulate those structures. My fingertips are so much more sensitive now than they were last August, and I love it. This is something that, God willing, I'll be able to incorporate into whatever I end up doing.
- Diagnostic Imaging, 1st sem. I kind of hated this class, it seemed so made up. MRIs are not nearly as clear as doctors would have you think they are.
- Physiology, second semester. This was another one of those hit/miss classes, which is such a shame, because it was also fascinating. I know so much more about how the body works now - somewhat despite my professors.
- Microbiology, 2nd sem. I hated this class and I didn't learn much. I was extremely thankful to pass just so I wouldn't ever have to deal with the class again. The second years say you relearn the important parts next year anyway. Good! Stupid class.
- Clinical Skilz I, 2nd sem. I've never seen as many really disgusting pictures as I saw in this class. This was the first class I couldn't always study for while eating - too many purulent ulcers and necrotic wounds and super gross eye infections, etc. Don't get me wrong, it was awesome! But also full of ew. I gave my first female/ pelvic and male/ rectal exams in this class, and proved to myself that I can be comfortable in uncomfortable situations. And I now officially have a tiny bit of patient exposure. Yay!
- Neuroanatomy, 2nd sem. I was beyond thankful to pass this class as well. I have never worked so hard in a class for so little return. The crazy thing is that so much of that class is beyond the scope of what we will need to know for next year or boards (certification exams, just after second year). I'm really glad this class was as interesting as it was, because if I'd had two Microbiologies (hard and I hate learning it) my quality of life would have been significantly lower.
- OMM II, 2nd sem. This was even better than last semester, just because I know much more and my level of understanding is correspondingly deeper.
- Clinical Epidemiology, 2nd sem. This class taught us how to interpret studies for their validity and usefulness. I know a lot of people had issues with the material, and I agree that it was dense, but... [shrug] I suppose God just didn't designate this class as a burden for me. Which was nice.
- Medical Spanish I, 2nd sem. This was a fun class and I hopefully learned a lot of really useful stuff.
Obviously my classes were a mixed bag. Overall, I'd say I was really, really average this year. When the classes weren't too bad I did well, and when they were hard I struggled. But just like the majority of my classmates, I passed all of my classes and am definitely moving on to second year.
I'm not sure I ever really knew what it was like to work hard before this year. Sure, I worked hard in college, but I kept boundaries most of the time; I still took Saturday nights off, or refused to get up before a certain time, or insisted that meals be separate from studying. The first time I always read before class was my senior year, when I took - surprise! - histology, which is taught at the medical school level at my college. Other than that, never before have I had to be disciplined or consistent, the two things that medical school absolutely demands. Learning that was hard for me. And choosing new priorities was hard too. Gone are things like free time and leisure activities; they've been replaced with spending time with my husband, sleeping regularly, exercising, and trying to eat well. In that respect I feel like I've grown up a lot this past year.
At the same time, I have never had as many stress problems as I had this year. Sleeping and eating problems, emotional ups and downs... Towards the end of finals this spring, I started feeling like I had tiny bugs crawling on me - and since I'm definitely not on cocaine, the only other answer is that I was just so stressed out I was losing it. As Christians we have access to a joy that transcends life circumstances, but I can't say I reached that state regularly. It was just this ridiculous push-pull between me and God, where I would beg for His guidance and He would grant it, and then I would sleep in an extra 15 minutes, or I would get distracted when I could feel the Holy Spirit all but reading my notes to me. So was this semester a time of spiritual strength or weakness? I don't know, but God is faithful no matter where I am.
I'm glad to be finished. And now for the reward: SUMMER! This Saturday I go to Mexico for my first ever mission trip, and I'm really excited.
Sunday, May 9
I realised this might not have come across very well, so
Just so we're clear.
Medical school is not fun.
That is all.
>.<
Medical school is not fun.
That is all.
>.<
Wednesday, May 5
Finals, Parte Dos OR Yay Learning
3 down, 4 to go. Proverbs 30:8 is my lifeline, as it should have been all along. And I haven't failed anything yet, and I don't think I will, actually. Which is huge.
Also. If I have to go downstairs and be the Volume Police to my neighbors ONE MORE @*#&$% time I might lose it. When I can feel the bass through my butt and it is making the computer vibrate a bit, I am not the one out of line.
...Forget it. I'm calling campus police. This is ridiculous. Last Saturday, despite mandatory campuswide 24-hour quiet hours - you know, as in shh! quiet hours! plz not to be loud and obnoxious shhhhhhhh! SHHHH!! - I had to go downstairs and be That Weird Girl Who Studies On Saturday Nights Instead of Getting Drunk So Please Be Quiet. They were having a huge house party. During quiet hours. Because that is logical. Agh. Just follow the rules! Please!
Text I sent my best friend this morning: "You know you're growing up when four hours of sleep isn't fun anymore and you don't care about being cool and hardcore." But it's okay! Because I met with my professor today and he explained something in such a way that I might even be able to learn it! And since this is the class that I am barely failing, I need all the comprehension I can get.
Time to go and learn about memory.
Also. If I have to go downstairs and be the Volume Police to my neighbors ONE MORE @*#&$% time I might lose it. When I can feel the bass through my butt and it is making the computer vibrate a bit, I am not the one out of line.
...Forget it. I'm calling campus police. This is ridiculous. Last Saturday, despite mandatory campuswide 24-hour quiet hours - you know, as in shh! quiet hours! plz not to be loud and obnoxious shhhhhhhh! SHHHH!! - I had to go downstairs and be That Weird Girl Who Studies On Saturday Nights Instead of Getting Drunk So Please Be Quiet. They were having a huge house party. During quiet hours. Because that is logical. Agh. Just follow the rules! Please!
Text I sent my best friend this morning: "You know you're growing up when four hours of sleep isn't fun anymore and you don't care about being cool and hardcore." But it's okay! Because I met with my professor today and he explained something in such a way that I might even be able to learn it! And since this is the class that I am barely failing, I need all the comprehension I can get.
Time to go and learn about memory.
Monday, May 3
Finals, Springing
Okay, two things.
1. Last Monday I did my first male genitalia/ rectal exam, again on a standardised patient. It was mildly more awkward than the pelvic exam, mostly because my patient refused to ever look me in the eye. Which is probably a good example of what it will be like when I do real exams. Also, I got to see a real life umbilical hernia, which was awesome!
2. Finals begin today. I wouldn't say I'm ready for the exams, but I am really ready for the summer. Is everyone sick of hearing me say that yet?
1. Last Monday I did my first male genitalia/ rectal exam, again on a standardised patient. It was mildly more awkward than the pelvic exam, mostly because my patient refused to ever look me in the eye. Which is probably a good example of what it will be like when I do real exams. Also, I got to see a real life umbilical hernia, which was awesome!
2. Finals begin today. I wouldn't say I'm ready for the exams, but I am really ready for the summer. Is everyone sick of hearing me say that yet?
Monday, April 19
Stuff
School is now a straight shot from here to finals. I took my last exam of the semester on Thursday. Here is where things stand right now:
- Neuroanatomy: It kills me to be so borderline. And before you go, "Hey, D's for degrees!" let me just be clear that the lowest passing grade in medical school (I'm assuming in all medical schools) is a 70%. So I'm failing. Failing! Blergh. But. I know for a fact that I failed the second Neuro exam due to being vaguely sick and in lots of pain from my back, etc., and it interfered with my sleep and my focus. This is good because now, when I am not sick and my back is not hurting, I can just focus hard and study and rock the final. And if I pass the final at all, I pass the class. Ah, med school, how quickly you have lowered my standards for success.
- Physiology: whatever. I'm doing fine in this class. Just have to keep on keepin' on.
- Microbiology: is the bane of my life. Seriously. I really don't like having to memorise literally hundreds of disparate facts. There are no processes, unlike Phys, for instance. And there are no real systems for organising the material. It's just - this bacterium/fungus/virus causes this disease. The patient will have these symptoms. These are the clinical tests we run to confirm what creature it is and these are the results we would expect. Next: this bacterium causes... Now multiply that times a few hundred, and you have the class. I think it's just hardheaded laziness, but I can't bring myself to sacrifice time spent on other classes in order to really do well in this class, and as a result I'm sort of dragging along the bottom of passing. I should care. Or something.
- Spanish: Ha.
- Clinical Epidemiology: is the one-credit class where they teach us how to evaluate the jargon in clinical studies and apply it. I haven't been to class since the midterm, and it won't matter. The material is useful, though - it's just that all of it is online, along with really complete practice exams. Not going to class + studying the notes + working through all of the practice tests = an A on the midterm, so I'm not worried.
- OMM: legitimately requires studying. Which I do. And you have to take lab seriously, unless you are too tired to log anything, and then you must pay for it later. Which I also do.
- Clinical Skilz I - Last week I did my first pelvic exam on a real, live person. She was a standardised (=trained) patient, and she was very patient with us (there were four students and one physician). It wasn't too bad, really. It's not like a vagina is a foreign concept to me. I can never tell what will gross people out and what won't, so I will spare you the details of the exam. Suffice it to say that I wasn't that nervous and my instructor complimented me when I was finished. Yay! Next week: male rectal and genital exams, also on a real, live, standardised patient. I have to say, I'm... also not nervous about that. I have yet to find a medical thing that phases me other than bone saws. Ew.
- I became a Stress Management leader! For the first two months of the autumn semester, a group of second years lead the first years in small groups, and teach them skills to help ease them into medical school life. It was invaluable to me last semester, and it will be good to pay that forward. I'm a pretty average med student, so hopefully my experiences will be useful to my group. I'm excited! I like taking care of people.
I'm guessing I will get two C's this semester, which means according to my deal with myself I can't shave my head this summer. But I will put in some obnoxious stripe of colour! I feel my youth slipping away in the face of this semi-professional life I'm living. I must have one last young hurrah this summer.
- Neuroanatomy: It kills me to be so borderline. And before you go, "Hey, D's for degrees!" let me just be clear that the lowest passing grade in medical school (I'm assuming in all medical schools) is a 70%. So I'm failing. Failing! Blergh. But. I know for a fact that I failed the second Neuro exam due to being vaguely sick and in lots of pain from my back, etc., and it interfered with my sleep and my focus. This is good because now, when I am not sick and my back is not hurting, I can just focus hard and study and rock the final. And if I pass the final at all, I pass the class. Ah, med school, how quickly you have lowered my standards for success.
- Physiology: whatever. I'm doing fine in this class. Just have to keep on keepin' on.
- Microbiology: is the bane of my life. Seriously. I really don't like having to memorise literally hundreds of disparate facts. There are no processes, unlike Phys, for instance. And there are no real systems for organising the material. It's just - this bacterium/fungus/virus causes this disease. The patient will have these symptoms. These are the clinical tests we run to confirm what creature it is and these are the results we would expect. Next: this bacterium causes... Now multiply that times a few hundred, and you have the class. I think it's just hardheaded laziness, but I can't bring myself to sacrifice time spent on other classes in order to really do well in this class, and as a result I'm sort of dragging along the bottom of passing. I should care. Or something.
- Spanish: Ha.
- Clinical Epidemiology: is the one-credit class where they teach us how to evaluate the jargon in clinical studies and apply it. I haven't been to class since the midterm, and it won't matter. The material is useful, though - it's just that all of it is online, along with really complete practice exams. Not going to class + studying the notes + working through all of the practice tests = an A on the midterm, so I'm not worried.
- OMM: legitimately requires studying. Which I do. And you have to take lab seriously, unless you are too tired to log anything, and then you must pay for it later. Which I also do.
- Clinical Skilz I - Last week I did my first pelvic exam on a real, live person. She was a standardised (=trained) patient, and she was very patient with us (there were four students and one physician). It wasn't too bad, really. It's not like a vagina is a foreign concept to me. I can never tell what will gross people out and what won't, so I will spare you the details of the exam. Suffice it to say that I wasn't that nervous and my instructor complimented me when I was finished. Yay! Next week: male rectal and genital exams, also on a real, live, standardised patient. I have to say, I'm... also not nervous about that. I have yet to find a medical thing that phases me other than bone saws. Ew.
- I became a Stress Management leader! For the first two months of the autumn semester, a group of second years lead the first years in small groups, and teach them skills to help ease them into medical school life. It was invaluable to me last semester, and it will be good to pay that forward. I'm a pretty average med student, so hopefully my experiences will be useful to my group. I'm excited! I like taking care of people.
I'm guessing I will get two C's this semester, which means according to my deal with myself I can't shave my head this summer. But I will put in some obnoxious stripe of colour! I feel my youth slipping away in the face of this semi-professional life I'm living. I must have one last young hurrah this summer.
Sunday, April 11
On My Hair and Consumerism. Also My Hair.
Since I seem bent on wasting this entire day with productive procrastination, why not discuss a topic that is important but nowhere near pressing? Yes! Onward!
I'm not sure that this post applies to most of the people who read this blog. Why? It's about black hair.
I'm half black (SURPRISE!!), and I've always felt this most keenly when it comes to my hair. I've always felt mostly alone in my unending struggle against my hair. And if this sounds trivial to you, well, I envy you the ease of having your hair be something trivial. For me it's the one thing about me that can't be dealt with easily or in small steps, and it has plagued me my entire life. Some of my earliest memories are of my mother attempting to comb my hair as I screamed. Over the course of my short life I have tried, literally, everything to manage my hair - braids of all types, chemical straighteners, oils and styling products, dredlocks, even just going totally afro-natural and trying to own it. I have shaved my hair off completely and grown it back out again. And no matter what, I am always defeated by the sheer mass, the utter intractability of my hair. This last year I have resorted to the most boring of braids so that for once I just didn't have to think about it, but the truth is that I sort of hate braids. Getting them put in hurts and getting them taken out hurts, and both steps take hours, and nice braids are heavy but getting cornrows makes me look very much like my little brother. I have always dreamed of having a hair appointment that wasn't full of pain and ibuprofen. I am lucky in that my mother raised me to not feel like permanently relaxed hair was the ideal; I really like natural black hair because I think it is unique and can be gorgeous if you do it right. I just have a low success rate when it comes to translating that to my hair, which has the kinks of black hair and the coarse heaviness of Colombian hair.
(Note: For all that I am a big proponent of girls shaving their heads at least once during their lives for the experience, I would still rather have hair than have no hair. I accept that I was raised in a culture where short hair is more masculine and long hair is more feminine, and I'm not really trying to fight that particular battle. It's just that functionality is more important to me than looking nice. That is why I have shaved my head in the past and why I loved it: my hair drove me to it. And it may again. The freedom was amazing, and that was almost all I cared about.)
It's not just that I spend a lot of time and stress on my hair, it's that I spend SO MUCH MONEY on it as well. I am a very low-maintenance person, and even I spend easily $100 per appointment.
(Note #2: And let's be clear about these appointments. I spend money in order to make my hair manageable, not prettier. I am not talking about going to the salon to make otherwise perfectly fine hair a different colour, or curlier, or whatever. I am talking about making impossible hair usable.)
And now that I have semi-regular obligations that require me to look like a polished adult rather than a scruffy student, my choices have been getting more and more expensive. Some black women spend $100 every few weeks in order to maintain very clean, professional styles (or bloody ridiculous ones, but whatever). All that time and stress and money - where is it going? Someone is making an outrageous profit off of all of this.
This article is related to what I'm talking about. It talks about how messed up the black hair care industry is, how irritatingly fringe it is, and how black women constantly misspend their money. I like it because it is well-written and solidly thought out, and mirrors the same trends of responsible consumerism that have been appearing in more mainstream culture. I appreciate that.
...And we shall see if the $60 worth of products I bought from their site make it possible for me to actually stop getting my $%#& hair braided all the $%#& time. If I could just have curls! Curls that I could comb sometimes! Curls that respond to gravity! Curls that I could wash and maybe put up in a ponytail! CURLS ARE WHAT I WANT.
I'm not sure that this post applies to most of the people who read this blog. Why? It's about black hair.
I'm half black (SURPRISE!!), and I've always felt this most keenly when it comes to my hair. I've always felt mostly alone in my unending struggle against my hair. And if this sounds trivial to you, well, I envy you the ease of having your hair be something trivial. For me it's the one thing about me that can't be dealt with easily or in small steps, and it has plagued me my entire life. Some of my earliest memories are of my mother attempting to comb my hair as I screamed. Over the course of my short life I have tried, literally, everything to manage my hair - braids of all types, chemical straighteners, oils and styling products, dredlocks, even just going totally afro-natural and trying to own it. I have shaved my hair off completely and grown it back out again. And no matter what, I am always defeated by the sheer mass, the utter intractability of my hair. This last year I have resorted to the most boring of braids so that for once I just didn't have to think about it, but the truth is that I sort of hate braids. Getting them put in hurts and getting them taken out hurts, and both steps take hours, and nice braids are heavy but getting cornrows makes me look very much like my little brother. I have always dreamed of having a hair appointment that wasn't full of pain and ibuprofen. I am lucky in that my mother raised me to not feel like permanently relaxed hair was the ideal; I really like natural black hair because I think it is unique and can be gorgeous if you do it right. I just have a low success rate when it comes to translating that to my hair, which has the kinks of black hair and the coarse heaviness of Colombian hair.
(Note: For all that I am a big proponent of girls shaving their heads at least once during their lives for the experience, I would still rather have hair than have no hair. I accept that I was raised in a culture where short hair is more masculine and long hair is more feminine, and I'm not really trying to fight that particular battle. It's just that functionality is more important to me than looking nice. That is why I have shaved my head in the past and why I loved it: my hair drove me to it. And it may again. The freedom was amazing, and that was almost all I cared about.)
It's not just that I spend a lot of time and stress on my hair, it's that I spend SO MUCH MONEY on it as well. I am a very low-maintenance person, and even I spend easily $100 per appointment.
(Note #2: And let's be clear about these appointments. I spend money in order to make my hair manageable, not prettier. I am not talking about going to the salon to make otherwise perfectly fine hair a different colour, or curlier, or whatever. I am talking about making impossible hair usable.)
And now that I have semi-regular obligations that require me to look like a polished adult rather than a scruffy student, my choices have been getting more and more expensive. Some black women spend $100 every few weeks in order to maintain very clean, professional styles (or bloody ridiculous ones, but whatever). All that time and stress and money - where is it going? Someone is making an outrageous profit off of all of this.
This article is related to what I'm talking about. It talks about how messed up the black hair care industry is, how irritatingly fringe it is, and how black women constantly misspend their money. I like it because it is well-written and solidly thought out, and mirrors the same trends of responsible consumerism that have been appearing in more mainstream culture. I appreciate that.
...And we shall see if the $60 worth of products I bought from their site make it possible for me to actually stop getting my $%#& hair braided all the $%#& time. If I could just have curls! Curls that I could comb sometimes! Curls that respond to gravity! Curls that I could wash and maybe put up in a ponytail! CURLS ARE WHAT I WANT.
Friday, April 9
Catalytic
An hour and a half ago this post would have been nothing but, "I hate this school, I hate all the people in it, I am sick of this blah blah blah..."
But then I went to the weekly CMA meeting and everything changed.
Every so often we have a guest speaker instead of doing our usual Scripture reading/ discussion thing. Today the speaker was Rick Donlon, who helped found Christ Community Health Services, a group of clinics for low-income people in Memphis. And I have to tell you- well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.
First of all, he gave a very frank talk about how the med students/ doctors of his generation, individually and corporately, ultimately compromised their desire to change the world for God's glory in exchange for money, security, etc. And he discussed how real a danger that is for us right now, how we are in this giant monster that is trying to eat us and we end up sort of chewed up and spit out by the end of medical school. Before we are even doctors, we are tired and fed up and just want things to be easy for a bit. I'm sure you can guess that I felt his words in a deep part of my soul, because I've been feeling med school's teeth for a while now. I felt rebuked, and so I was totally absorbed because clearly, whatever he was about to say applied to me.
He moved on to what he did - how just a few years out of medical school he started this tiny clinic in the poorest part of Memphis with three other inexperienced young doctors - and it just caught me. I have always known that I wanted to serve the underserved, and since I came to Christ I knew that this desire would (well, duh) be tied to sharing God with others. But it's scary to think that my purpose will really only include serving, not on the side while I work at a nice hospital or a suburban clinic, but to just serve. Just... not make much money and not have great equipment most of the time and see people who desperately need the most basic medical education and service. Does that make sense, that I feel split even though my purpose is mostly clear to me? I know what I am going to do with my life in the purest sense, but I don't yet know how to get there. I don't know what my residency will be. I don't know what rotations to take at the end of med school. I don't know where I will be going (here? The States? Somewhere else in the world? Some combination? How does that even work?) or what, specifically, I will be doing. I just know that I was made for a life of service to the poor and oppressed.
There it is. Thrilling. As in exciting and terrifying. Also terrifying. Maybe a bit confusing. Did I mention terrifying? God has a lot of growing to do if he wants this little mouse in the faith to be able to really, really serve. But this is the only thought that galvanises me, that really gets me awake and energised about the future. School loses its spice after a week or so when it's this hard. Working in a normal clinic sounds ridiculously boring (Well. Not boring, per se. Just... well... boring. Wait, that's the same as boring, isn't it. Sorry, I did try). But working just in a hospital sounds like it might suck your soul out and leave it for the vultures. I don't know where I'm going with this, except that I must have meaning to my work or I can't do it. I can only get by on rationalisations for so long. Does that make sense? Obviously I haven't had the whole path revealed to me, which is really as it should be because all I need to focus on for now is the next four weeks of my life, not the next forty years. This is what I know:
0. God is good. I also wrote, "Good is God," and "God is God," and I suppose those are also true.
1. I have a Microbiology test on Thursday that I really need to pass. This weekend I must study for it, and also for Neuroanatomy, because...
2. I am currently failing Neuroanatomy by 0.2%; if I pass the final, I pass the class. Thus, I have to spend the next four weeks working to make sure that pass happens.
3. Matt will be gone for four weeks this summer. I have been invited (along with anyone else at school who wants to go) to go and live and work among the people who run CCHS for a period from 2-4 weeks. Thus, for part or all of the time Matt is away, I will go and begin to learn the tools for my future trade.
4. At some point in the distant future, I will finally be well-enough equipped to go and serve somewhere. And it will happen.
5. God is still good.
That's all I know about my life. More than enough to get me through the end of my little first-year experience, don't you think?
But then I went to the weekly CMA meeting and everything changed.
Every so often we have a guest speaker instead of doing our usual Scripture reading/ discussion thing. Today the speaker was Rick Donlon, who helped found Christ Community Health Services, a group of clinics for low-income people in Memphis. And I have to tell you- well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.
First of all, he gave a very frank talk about how the med students/ doctors of his generation, individually and corporately, ultimately compromised their desire to change the world for God's glory in exchange for money, security, etc. And he discussed how real a danger that is for us right now, how we are in this giant monster that is trying to eat us and we end up sort of chewed up and spit out by the end of medical school. Before we are even doctors, we are tired and fed up and just want things to be easy for a bit. I'm sure you can guess that I felt his words in a deep part of my soul, because I've been feeling med school's teeth for a while now. I felt rebuked, and so I was totally absorbed because clearly, whatever he was about to say applied to me.
He moved on to what he did - how just a few years out of medical school he started this tiny clinic in the poorest part of Memphis with three other inexperienced young doctors - and it just caught me. I have always known that I wanted to serve the underserved, and since I came to Christ I knew that this desire would (well, duh) be tied to sharing God with others. But it's scary to think that my purpose will really only include serving, not on the side while I work at a nice hospital or a suburban clinic, but to just serve. Just... not make much money and not have great equipment most of the time and see people who desperately need the most basic medical education and service. Does that make sense, that I feel split even though my purpose is mostly clear to me? I know what I am going to do with my life in the purest sense, but I don't yet know how to get there. I don't know what my residency will be. I don't know what rotations to take at the end of med school. I don't know where I will be going (here? The States? Somewhere else in the world? Some combination? How does that even work?) or what, specifically, I will be doing. I just know that I was made for a life of service to the poor and oppressed.
There it is. Thrilling. As in exciting and terrifying. Also terrifying. Maybe a bit confusing. Did I mention terrifying? God has a lot of growing to do if he wants this little mouse in the faith to be able to really, really serve. But this is the only thought that galvanises me, that really gets me awake and energised about the future. School loses its spice after a week or so when it's this hard. Working in a normal clinic sounds ridiculously boring (Well. Not boring, per se. Just... well... boring. Wait, that's the same as boring, isn't it. Sorry, I did try). But working just in a hospital sounds like it might suck your soul out and leave it for the vultures. I don't know where I'm going with this, except that I must have meaning to my work or I can't do it. I can only get by on rationalisations for so long. Does that make sense? Obviously I haven't had the whole path revealed to me, which is really as it should be because all I need to focus on for now is the next four weeks of my life, not the next forty years. This is what I know:
0. God is good. I also wrote, "Good is God," and "God is God," and I suppose those are also true.
1. I have a Microbiology test on Thursday that I really need to pass. This weekend I must study for it, and also for Neuroanatomy, because...
2. I am currently failing Neuroanatomy by 0.2%; if I pass the final, I pass the class. Thus, I have to spend the next four weeks working to make sure that pass happens.
3. Matt will be gone for four weeks this summer. I have been invited (along with anyone else at school who wants to go) to go and live and work among the people who run CCHS for a period from 2-4 weeks. Thus, for part or all of the time Matt is away, I will go and begin to learn the tools for my future trade.
4. At some point in the distant future, I will finally be well-enough equipped to go and serve somewhere. And it will happen.
5. God is still good.
That's all I know about my life. More than enough to get me through the end of my little first-year experience, don't you think?
Saturday, March 27
I need a break!
Still here. Took a test Friday; probably failed it. My grade can take the hit, but it is never fun to work so hard for such terrible results. I will find out how I actually did on Monday. Another (really hard) test is approaching on Tuesday that I already don't have enough time to prepare for (no, I'm not joking).
>.<
I am SO OVER IT. I was on the phone with my madre a couple of days ago and I told her I hate school. She really tried to convince me that I actually love school and that this is just a phase, but I really am so sick of all the constant pressure. Three days after spring break ended I was already thinking of summer. I'm just dying to be finished with this school year. I want to swim and go to the beach and read books. I want to sleep in and shadow physicians and try to remember why I'm doing this to myself and everyone who has to listen to me. And it's tough to look ahead to third year, when things will lighten up and get a lot more interesting, because I will likely be alone then and so I am actually trying not to think about it at all, which really just means I have nothing to look forward to in the long term. I AM GETTING DEPRESSED which is NOT HELPING and I would call myself a total slacker and a wimp except every single person in my class feels this way right now. No wonder few people make it through med school unmedicated.
I do not like this, Sam I Am.
Okay, okay. Positives. Uh... the weather is getting way nicer! And God is always so good, even in the difficult patches. His faithfulness astounds me all the time. Aaannd... I get to go on my first medical mission this summer which should be totally sweet. AND my best friend since the 9th grade (she has known me almost half my life!) is coming to visit on Tuesday; that's the best thing to happen all semester. There are good things.
[sigh]
Sorry this is such a sad panda entry. I'm sure things will pick up soon. I have good days, I promise.
...I think it's time for a Scripture dump. Subject: victory/ refuge.
Psalm 44:6-8
I do not trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, you put our adversaries to shame. In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.
Matthew 11:28
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
John 16:33
"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him who have been called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:35.37
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? ....No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
2 Thessalonians 3:3
But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.
James 1:12-15
Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.
2 Timothy 4:18
The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory for ever and ever. Amen.
>.<
I am SO OVER IT. I was on the phone with my madre a couple of days ago and I told her I hate school. She really tried to convince me that I actually love school and that this is just a phase, but I really am so sick of all the constant pressure. Three days after spring break ended I was already thinking of summer. I'm just dying to be finished with this school year. I want to swim and go to the beach and read books. I want to sleep in and shadow physicians and try to remember why I'm doing this to myself and everyone who has to listen to me. And it's tough to look ahead to third year, when things will lighten up and get a lot more interesting, because I will likely be alone then and so I am actually trying not to think about it at all, which really just means I have nothing to look forward to in the long term. I AM GETTING DEPRESSED which is NOT HELPING and I would call myself a total slacker and a wimp except every single person in my class feels this way right now. No wonder few people make it through med school unmedicated.
I do not like this, Sam I Am.
Okay, okay. Positives. Uh... the weather is getting way nicer! And God is always so good, even in the difficult patches. His faithfulness astounds me all the time. Aaannd... I get to go on my first medical mission this summer which should be totally sweet. AND my best friend since the 9th grade (she has known me almost half my life!) is coming to visit on Tuesday; that's the best thing to happen all semester. There are good things.
[sigh]
Sorry this is such a sad panda entry. I'm sure things will pick up soon. I have good days, I promise.
...I think it's time for a Scripture dump. Subject: victory/ refuge.
Psalm 44:6-8
I do not trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, you put our adversaries to shame. In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.
Matthew 11:28
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
John 16:33
"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him who have been called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:35.37
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? ....No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
2 Thessalonians 3:3
But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.
James 1:12-15
Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.
2 Timothy 4:18
The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory for ever and ever. Amen.
Thursday, March 18
Time Management
Spring Break thus far has been an enormous blessing. I have been able to sleep in every day and still get some work done. I need to buckle down for the next couple of days, though, if I really want to be well set up for next week and the week after. This is what a break has become: the chance to sleep while doing almost as much work as I was doing during school. Still, I really am thankful for even that.
I want to share something that changed the way I go through my days. It happened at a community group meeting (where a group of us whippersnappers get together once a week and dig our hands into some Scripture). A new couple were there that night, and the guy shared a revelation he'd had that when he thought of his time as his, his days were varying levels of terrible. He felt rushed, he was begrudging with his time, and he was never satisfied with what he managed to accomplish in a given day. But then he started reminding himself that all of the time he experienced was actually God's - given to him by God, but also directed and disposed of by God. And it changed everything for him. And it has changed everything for me as well.
It's a fundamentally different way of looking at time. It means that if you start out with a plan for the day and it gets derailed, you haven't necessarily failed, you just spent God's time in a different way than you anticipated but still in a fashion that is pleasing to Him, because you know He is in charge of directing where your time goes. This is the same philosophy that governs money and possessions, but somehow I had never applied it to time. It is freeing and lightens the yoke while keeping me disciplined. And it means I don't agonise over time management as much. If I wake up earlier than I'd intended to, it means I am meant to be awake for some purpose, and so up I get and start praying to figure out what I am meant to do. I start every day with a list that fills my waking hours, but if someone in need comes along, I trust that God put that person in my path for a reason, and that helping them is something that is pleasing to Him. The only thing I still struggle with is when to go to sleep. 'Cause, you know, I'd skip it if I could. Better grades and all that.
I want to share something that changed the way I go through my days. It happened at a community group meeting (where a group of us whippersnappers get together once a week and dig our hands into some Scripture). A new couple were there that night, and the guy shared a revelation he'd had that when he thought of his time as his, his days were varying levels of terrible. He felt rushed, he was begrudging with his time, and he was never satisfied with what he managed to accomplish in a given day. But then he started reminding himself that all of the time he experienced was actually God's - given to him by God, but also directed and disposed of by God. And it changed everything for him. And it has changed everything for me as well.
It's a fundamentally different way of looking at time. It means that if you start out with a plan for the day and it gets derailed, you haven't necessarily failed, you just spent God's time in a different way than you anticipated but still in a fashion that is pleasing to Him, because you know He is in charge of directing where your time goes. This is the same philosophy that governs money and possessions, but somehow I had never applied it to time. It is freeing and lightens the yoke while keeping me disciplined. And it means I don't agonise over time management as much. If I wake up earlier than I'd intended to, it means I am meant to be awake for some purpose, and so up I get and start praying to figure out what I am meant to do. I start every day with a list that fills my waking hours, but if someone in need comes along, I trust that God put that person in my path for a reason, and that helping them is something that is pleasing to Him. The only thing I still struggle with is when to go to sleep. 'Cause, you know, I'd skip it if I could. Better grades and all that.
Tuesday, March 16
Job Hazards of the Sheeple
Well. It's been a bit longer than I expected it would be. And I have several things to share, so I guess this is where I introduce my love of bulleted lists. Onward!
- I passed all 5 of those tests. Some more passingly than others. More on that later. Just a tip, though: if you are ever contemplating going three weeks with an average of 4-5 hours of sleep a night... don't.
- Friday afternoon marked the beginning of Spring Break! Matt was gone on a short trip, so I spent the entire weekend sleeping and/ or playing Final Fantasy XIII. One of my classmates did not know what that was when I mentioned it last week, which made me deeply sad for them. They will never understand; video games are either something that you are raised on or something you miss out on, in part or in whole, forever.
- My computer is borked. The place I took it to initially just called and said it is probably a hard drive failure. Allow me a moment to rant about this computer of mine. When I started school in August, I was told that I really should have this one extra-special Toshiba touch-screen laptop that costs $2000. I was told it was an important addition to the learning experience, so important in fact that they had made a deal with this one company to give us the computer and wait for payment until our student loans had come in. So I bit.
Cut to four months later. I no longer take notes on my computer because the touch-screen note-taking software is too unreliable and I can't afford to keep losing what I write. The screen keeps getting a wet-looking spot in the middle from being in my backpack; the casing isn't strong enough to keep the computer from getting compressed, and so the screen gets smushed. And one day I turn my computer on like normal - and it freezes. And continues to freeze no matter how many times I turn it on and off, no matter how virus-free it is. And now I apparently need a new hard drive on a computer that is less than a year old. The screen doesn't always track well, the mousepad will sometimes stop working for no reason, and the stupid thing has been running slower and slower despite my spotless registry and fully (and regularly) defragged memory. And before you point out that clearly a computer with this many issues is just a defective one, let me say that I can list multiple people in my class who are having the same or even more issues.
Even better, the place we bought our computers from is actually in Dallas, and they will make you wait weeks on your computer while they fix it. I'm assuming they are just very busy, but that doesn't change the fact that when I need a computer, I won't have one if I use my warranty. Luckily a friend of mine owns a computer company and is willing to help me out. You always pay in money or time, right?
Honestly, though? I wish I could just return the thing. It kills me that I could have spent $1500 on an excellent normal laptop instead of $2100 on a lower-tier tablet. This is the price you pay when you allow yourself to be one of the sheeple.
Sigh.
- I passed all 5 of those tests. Some more passingly than others. More on that later. Just a tip, though: if you are ever contemplating going three weeks with an average of 4-5 hours of sleep a night... don't.
- Friday afternoon marked the beginning of Spring Break! Matt was gone on a short trip, so I spent the entire weekend sleeping and/ or playing Final Fantasy XIII. One of my classmates did not know what that was when I mentioned it last week, which made me deeply sad for them. They will never understand; video games are either something that you are raised on or something you miss out on, in part or in whole, forever.
- My computer is borked. The place I took it to initially just called and said it is probably a hard drive failure. Allow me a moment to rant about this computer of mine. When I started school in August, I was told that I really should have this one extra-special Toshiba touch-screen laptop that costs $2000. I was told it was an important addition to the learning experience, so important in fact that they had made a deal with this one company to give us the computer and wait for payment until our student loans had come in. So I bit.
Cut to four months later. I no longer take notes on my computer because the touch-screen note-taking software is too unreliable and I can't afford to keep losing what I write. The screen keeps getting a wet-looking spot in the middle from being in my backpack; the casing isn't strong enough to keep the computer from getting compressed, and so the screen gets smushed. And one day I turn my computer on like normal - and it freezes. And continues to freeze no matter how many times I turn it on and off, no matter how virus-free it is. And now I apparently need a new hard drive on a computer that is less than a year old. The screen doesn't always track well, the mousepad will sometimes stop working for no reason, and the stupid thing has been running slower and slower despite my spotless registry and fully (and regularly) defragged memory. And before you point out that clearly a computer with this many issues is just a defective one, let me say that I can list multiple people in my class who are having the same or even more issues.
Even better, the place we bought our computers from is actually in Dallas, and they will make you wait weeks on your computer while they fix it. I'm assuming they are just very busy, but that doesn't change the fact that when I need a computer, I won't have one if I use my warranty. Luckily a friend of mine owns a computer company and is willing to help me out. You always pay in money or time, right?
Honestly, though? I wish I could just return the thing. It kills me that I could have spent $1500 on an excellent normal laptop instead of $2100 on a lower-tier tablet. This is the price you pay when you allow yourself to be one of the sheeple.
Sheeple
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Sheeple (a portmanteau of "sheep" and "people") is a term of disparagement, in which people are likened to sheep. It is often used to denote persons who voluntarily acquiesce to a perceived authority, or suggestion without sufficient research to understand fully the scope of the ramifications involved in that decision, and thus undermine their own human individuality or in other cases give up certain rights. The implication of sheeple is that as a collective, people believe whatever they are told, especially if told so by a perceived authority figure believed to be trustworthy, without processing it or doing adequate research to be sure that it is an accurate representation of the real world around them.Sigh.
Thursday, March 4
I'm still around.
Hey. I'm still alive. Today I took test 3 of 5 for this two-and-a-half week period. Two left. Then Spring Break.
I can totally do this.
I can totally do this.
Thursday, February 25
I just want to say
- that I can't believe I thought I was a serious student in undergraduate. It's laughable now. Studying for big tests two nights before? Only carrying one notebook at a time in a cute little blue handbag? Sleeping in a regular pattern? Taking multiple days off at a time? What a silly thing I was. So young, so young.
Tuesday, February 23
Explanation or excuse? Only God knows.
Today I am taking a mental health day.
Let me begin with yesterday. After morning classes, I went home for lunch. The plan was to have a quick lunch with Matt and then do some work before heading to my ( at times insanely useless) Clinical Skilz lab, where we would be "learning" about dermatology by staring at each other's arms. On my way into my apartment, I tripped up a few stairs and totally wiped out. Everything went flying. I hurt my knee surprisingly badly considering I just tripped, and ruined a pair of jeans. And that was it. I limped upstairs, cleaned my knee, and went to bed instead of CS. I just couldn't take it. I did do some work later in the evening but the thought of going to class was somehow too much.
This morning I woke up on time for my classes; I then lay in bed for ten minutes alternately yelling at myself to get up and feeling totally overwhelmed by even the thought of putting bandages on my leg and figuring out what clothes to wear, let alone having to actually attend class. All of my dreams had involved me either screaming or crying. I made it into the bathroom where I stared at myself for a few minutes... and then I returned to bed, curled into a little ball, and retreated guiltily back into sleep. When I woke up a couple of hours ago, I realised I'd missed all of my morning classes but still technically had neuroanatomy lab and Spanish this afternoon and evening, respectively. Visualising actually being there literally sent me into fits of tears. Clearly I am feeling a bit off balance, as hyperventilation and a strong desire to flee are usually the strongest reactions I have to gunners and/ or neuro lab.
And so your heroine finds herself at home, still in her pajamas, potentially without plans to do any work today at all. There are two ways to think about this.
One (The Parent's Explanation): apparently I am exhausted in some measure, and that part of me decided it was time to take a break. It is healthy and good that I am listening to it, and although I may have to play catch-up a bit, it will have been worth it for the recharge that I get. And let's be honest, medical school consists solely of playing catch-up anyway, so it's not like my life will be drastically different in that regard. I'll just be less likely to have a public breakdown.
Two (The Gunner's Explanation): part of med school is being exhausted in every way and learning to push through it. It is irresponsible and quite frankly weak of me to have to take so much time off, especially after I didn't work that hard over the weekend. Maybe I just don't want to work, and so I am taking any excuse available to shirk. Maybe I just can't hack it.
Which is more valid? [shrug] I'm not sure, but the first one certainly is more comfortable, isn't it? No one wants to think of oneself as a slacker, not in an arena like this. And it hurts to think of oneself as inadequate.
But I was thinking further about this this morning, talking to my mum and Matt, and I realised: I have always known I was only above average. Let me explain. I am more intelligent than many people; this is just a gift that God gave me, like he gave others artistic or physical ability. But I am definitely not a genius. I fall in the 'gifted' category, which means among the entire population I am of above average intelligence, but among smart people I am basically average.
This is finally playing out in school; I have reached a level where only people roughly as intelligent as I am are around me, and I am now almost exactly in the middle of the pack. Hard work counts for a lot when you are in the middle of the pack (vs. being absolutely brilliant, in which case hard work counts for much less - don't disagree with me, I have also seen this play out in my school. Outliers are outliers for a reason), and I am only willing to sacrifice so much.
So. I am smart but not smart enough to be the best. I am willing to work but possibly not hard enough to be the best. Is this not inadequacy?
Thus the second argument is also true - in a sense. If high levels of accomplishment and being tough were really what I am aiming for, then I would have dragged my sad self to school today because not doing so would be slacking. But more and more I am realising the depth to which those aren't my goals. Enjoying life as much as possible without totally sacrificing my career - you know, balance - that is my true goal. My whole life I have surrounded myself with gunners because they push me, and my whole life I have refused (most of the time) to participate in the madness of being hardcore fully and felt guilty about it. Now I am in a place that requires 100% daily and I am finally giving it... most of the time. Maybe I should stop being ashamed of those exceptions. Maybe.
Let me begin with yesterday. After morning classes, I went home for lunch. The plan was to have a quick lunch with Matt and then do some work before heading to my ( at times insanely useless) Clinical Skilz lab, where we would be "learning" about dermatology by staring at each other's arms. On my way into my apartment, I tripped up a few stairs and totally wiped out. Everything went flying. I hurt my knee surprisingly badly considering I just tripped, and ruined a pair of jeans. And that was it. I limped upstairs, cleaned my knee, and went to bed instead of CS. I just couldn't take it. I did do some work later in the evening but the thought of going to class was somehow too much.
This morning I woke up on time for my classes; I then lay in bed for ten minutes alternately yelling at myself to get up and feeling totally overwhelmed by even the thought of putting bandages on my leg and figuring out what clothes to wear, let alone having to actually attend class. All of my dreams had involved me either screaming or crying. I made it into the bathroom where I stared at myself for a few minutes... and then I returned to bed, curled into a little ball, and retreated guiltily back into sleep. When I woke up a couple of hours ago, I realised I'd missed all of my morning classes but still technically had neuroanatomy lab and Spanish this afternoon and evening, respectively. Visualising actually being there literally sent me into fits of tears. Clearly I am feeling a bit off balance, as hyperventilation and a strong desire to flee are usually the strongest reactions I have to gunners and/ or neuro lab.
And so your heroine finds herself at home, still in her pajamas, potentially without plans to do any work today at all. There are two ways to think about this.
One (The Parent's Explanation): apparently I am exhausted in some measure, and that part of me decided it was time to take a break. It is healthy and good that I am listening to it, and although I may have to play catch-up a bit, it will have been worth it for the recharge that I get. And let's be honest, medical school consists solely of playing catch-up anyway, so it's not like my life will be drastically different in that regard. I'll just be less likely to have a public breakdown.
Two (The Gunner's Explanation): part of med school is being exhausted in every way and learning to push through it. It is irresponsible and quite frankly weak of me to have to take so much time off, especially after I didn't work that hard over the weekend. Maybe I just don't want to work, and so I am taking any excuse available to shirk. Maybe I just can't hack it.
Which is more valid? [shrug] I'm not sure, but the first one certainly is more comfortable, isn't it? No one wants to think of oneself as a slacker, not in an arena like this. And it hurts to think of oneself as inadequate.
But I was thinking further about this this morning, talking to my mum and Matt, and I realised: I have always known I was only above average. Let me explain. I am more intelligent than many people; this is just a gift that God gave me, like he gave others artistic or physical ability. But I am definitely not a genius. I fall in the 'gifted' category, which means among the entire population I am of above average intelligence, but among smart people I am basically average.
This is finally playing out in school; I have reached a level where only people roughly as intelligent as I am are around me, and I am now almost exactly in the middle of the pack. Hard work counts for a lot when you are in the middle of the pack (vs. being absolutely brilliant, in which case hard work counts for much less - don't disagree with me, I have also seen this play out in my school. Outliers are outliers for a reason), and I am only willing to sacrifice so much.
So. I am smart but not smart enough to be the best. I am willing to work but possibly not hard enough to be the best. Is this not inadequacy?
Thus the second argument is also true - in a sense. If high levels of accomplishment and being tough were really what I am aiming for, then I would have dragged my sad self to school today because not doing so would be slacking. But more and more I am realising the depth to which those aren't my goals. Enjoying life as much as possible without totally sacrificing my career - you know, balance - that is my true goal. My whole life I have surrounded myself with gunners because they push me, and my whole life I have refused (most of the time) to participate in the madness of being hardcore fully and felt guilty about it. Now I am in a place that requires 100% daily and I am finally giving it... most of the time. Maybe I should stop being ashamed of those exceptions. Maybe.
Friday, February 19
I'm not sure if that was worth it.
Well, I survived the neuro exam. Even for medical school, the study period for that test was stressful and bizarre. I honestly don't think I have studied that hard for any test ever save the MCAT - you know, the test that got me in this place. Let me take a moment and clarify the term "studying hard." I mean that every single day for the last two weeks, I have spent at least six hours studying for that class. This is aside from any day-to-day work I have to do. On Saturday I spent almost nine hours on this stuff, and the only reason I didn't spend that much time on Sunday is because I had a Physiology exam Monday that I had to get ready for. So, two thoughts:
1. If I had studied that hard for even half of my exams last semester, I would have gotten straight A's. Guaranteed.
2. If I had studied that hard for my exams last semester, Matt and I might be separated right now. I have barely seen him for two weeks and it has been miserable. Last semester I frequently said that as someone who was married, I came prepackaged with certain priorities that sit above medical school. This should also be true for anyone who comes in with kids. Having those priorities out of order this week was terrible and I am glad it is over (for a while).
I am trying not to obsessively check online for my grade; I have only failedtwice three times. But the more I think about it, the more I realise that doing well on that test will only partially justify all the time and effort I sank into preparing for it. In my other classes I don't think I could justify that level of sacrifice at all. And there it is. I am not willing to give up enough to earn straight A's, full stop. And so it won't happen.
This closes doors. For example, I already know that this will make it almost impossible for me to ever get into surgery, which is okay. I do not want to do surgery. Surgeons can't lead normal lives and everyone in the medical field knows it. Why would you even want that?
Tonight is date night for Matt and me. I'm excited to get back to what's actually important.
1. If I had studied that hard for even half of my exams last semester, I would have gotten straight A's. Guaranteed.
2. If I had studied that hard for my exams last semester, Matt and I might be separated right now. I have barely seen him for two weeks and it has been miserable. Last semester I frequently said that as someone who was married, I came prepackaged with certain priorities that sit above medical school. This should also be true for anyone who comes in with kids. Having those priorities out of order this week was terrible and I am glad it is over (for a while).
I am trying not to obsessively check online for my grade; I have only failed
This closes doors. For example, I already know that this will make it almost impossible for me to ever get into surgery, which is okay. I do not want to do surgery. Surgeons can't lead normal lives and everyone in the medical field knows it. Why would you even want that?
Tonight is date night for Matt and me. I'm excited to get back to what's actually important.
Monday, February 15
Professionalism is a joke.
This semester I have the goal of running a 5K in April. This seemed totally doable in January. But now I am le tired. I can run a mile and a half right now, though, so we will see.
Neuroanatomy exam I on Thursday. I am terrified. I have been working myself into the ground and I feel like it won't be enough. Having spent easily 30 hours on that class in the last four days, I am taking a bit of a break tonight. And paying for it tomorrow by getting up [shudder] really early. But I can't do it tonight. I can't. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to.
Today I took a Phys exam, number II for the semester. Before the first test I was warned by multiple second-years not to really study the material, but instead to memorise the old exams. The good student in me rejected this and instead I studied the material really hard. I barely passed that test. For this one, I barely studied by comparison; I spent roughly four hours memorising old exams and maybe two hours going over the actual material. That has to be a fourth of the time I sank into preparing for the first test.
I scored over a full letter grade higher.
Beating the system is not fulfilling. Call it idealistic of me, but I would much rather have to study the material and then take a test that is somewhat challenging, and then have a grade that directly correlates with the quality of my studying. Most of my exams are not like this, thank goodness. But even having one like this bothers me a lot, because it's wrong. Just wrong.
Also. Class tends to be varying levels of a waste of time, ranging from 'sort of' all the way out to 'My time would be better spent in the wrong line at the DMV.' The issue is that I don't have time to waste not learning unless I am actively taking a break from learning. (Side note: everything that is not studying is a break from studying. Food. Commute. Using the toilet. Conversation. Everything. Sleep is not on this list, as I frequently wake myself up studying - listing things, going through procedures, etc. - and all of my dreams are related to school). So to go to class expecting it to be four hours of learning and to walk out feeling like you'd just been told you were, in fact, in the wrong line at the DMV is beyond frustrating.
So don't go, you say. Ah. But.
Apparently I attend a 'professional' institution, by which I mean people are highly unprofessional all the time, unless someone gets annoyed about something, at which point they reach into his/her ill-fitted scrubs and throwa good old-fashioned hissy fit someone a professional foul card. So when people stop coming to class, other people get annoyed and start throwing cards and insults around, spreading small lacerations and all kinds of irritation. Come to class! they say. It's your professional responsibility! And if you really think it's stupid then just come and study while you are in class.
This does indeed leave one with a moral dilemma. One must study, which precludes paying attention in class; but one must apparently attend class, because it is one's professional responsibility. But is it professional to attend class and blatantly do something unrelated to the lecture? Someone reading a textbook (or IM chatting, or playing Mario on the computer) looks very different than someone listening. Which is more respectful, uninterestedly filling a seat or not filling one at all? The card-throwers are resoundingly silent when I pose this question, which I have done repeatedly.
Neuroanatomy exam I on Thursday. I am terrified. I have been working myself into the ground and I feel like it won't be enough. Having spent easily 30 hours on that class in the last four days, I am taking a bit of a break tonight. And paying for it tomorrow by getting up [shudder] really early. But I can't do it tonight. I can't. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to.
Today I took a Phys exam, number II for the semester. Before the first test I was warned by multiple second-years not to really study the material, but instead to memorise the old exams. The good student in me rejected this and instead I studied the material really hard. I barely passed that test. For this one, I barely studied by comparison; I spent roughly four hours memorising old exams and maybe two hours going over the actual material. That has to be a fourth of the time I sank into preparing for the first test.
I scored over a full letter grade higher.
Beating the system is not fulfilling. Call it idealistic of me, but I would much rather have to study the material and then take a test that is somewhat challenging, and then have a grade that directly correlates with the quality of my studying. Most of my exams are not like this, thank goodness. But even having one like this bothers me a lot, because it's wrong. Just wrong.
Also. Class tends to be varying levels of a waste of time, ranging from 'sort of' all the way out to 'My time would be better spent in the wrong line at the DMV.' The issue is that I don't have time to waste not learning unless I am actively taking a break from learning. (Side note: everything that is not studying is a break from studying. Food. Commute. Using the toilet. Conversation. Everything. Sleep is not on this list, as I frequently wake myself up studying - listing things, going through procedures, etc. - and all of my dreams are related to school). So to go to class expecting it to be four hours of learning and to walk out feeling like you'd just been told you were, in fact, in the wrong line at the DMV is beyond frustrating.
So don't go, you say. Ah. But.
Apparently I attend a 'professional' institution, by which I mean people are highly unprofessional all the time, unless someone gets annoyed about something, at which point they reach into his/her ill-fitted scrubs and throw
This does indeed leave one with a moral dilemma. One must study, which precludes paying attention in class; but one must apparently attend class, because it is one's professional responsibility. But is it professional to attend class and blatantly do something unrelated to the lecture? Someone reading a textbook (or IM chatting, or playing Mario on the computer) looks very different than someone listening. Which is more respectful, uninterestedly filling a seat or not filling one at all? The card-throwers are resoundingly silent when I pose this question, which I have done repeatedly.
Hello
Hello! This blog is, at the time of writing, planned to be mostly a way to keep in touch with far-flung family and friends. Those who know me know that I am mostly terrible at: phone calls, email, text messages, listening to voicemail, and thank-you notes, so hopefully I can keep up with this better.
Honestly, this is my last chance to convince my nearest and dearest that I do in fact attend medical school and am not just putting on scrubs every day and heading to the nearest bar.
Honestly, this is my last chance to convince my nearest and dearest that I do in fact attend medical school and am not just putting on scrubs every day and heading to the nearest bar.
Thursday, February 11
Hx - But really.
I have been drowning in work. Nature of the beast, I know.
I am so tired. And I have so much work to do. Two exams this week, two next week. This semester is not fun and honestly, I'm struggling. I have the vague memory of doing this at the beginning of last semester - fighting to find some sort of balance - and it being hard, but mostly I'm stuck in the present, and the present is this cycle of being exhausted and falling behind, panicking, wearing myself out the second I have any energy, having one really productive day, and then being exhausted. It seems like my classmates are for the most part going through the same issues.
I choked during a practical yesterday. Really choked, which is something I don't remember ever doing before (I really mean that. I am not someone who generally has trouble with stress). It was OMM and I was perfect during the diagnosis bit, but then I treated my partner incorrectly three times in a row. Three times. Then it was my partner's turn and he was just fine. When he was finished the instructor looked at me and said, "Now Zoe. How do you treat a downslipped innominate shear. Tell me about it." This is what my partner had, when half of the pelvis has slipped down a bit compared to the other half. This is REALLY EASY to treat; if it is down, push it up. How do we do that? Well, it's only the easiest and most hands-off treatment that exists on this planet. The patient bounces that side's ischial tuberosity (bony part of your butt) on the edge of the exam table a few times. The correct treatment was for my partner to bounce on his butt on the edge of the table and it still took me three attempts and then, when asked yet again, another two full seconds to realise it. When I did, I was mortified. I mean, come on. COME ON. Ugh.
Okay. Neuroanatomy time.
I am so tired. And I have so much work to do. Two exams this week, two next week. This semester is not fun and honestly, I'm struggling. I have the vague memory of doing this at the beginning of last semester - fighting to find some sort of balance - and it being hard, but mostly I'm stuck in the present, and the present is this cycle of being exhausted and falling behind, panicking, wearing myself out the second I have any energy, having one really productive day, and then being exhausted. It seems like my classmates are for the most part going through the same issues.
I choked during a practical yesterday. Really choked, which is something I don't remember ever doing before (I really mean that. I am not someone who generally has trouble with stress). It was OMM and I was perfect during the diagnosis bit, but then I treated my partner incorrectly three times in a row. Three times. Then it was my partner's turn and he was just fine. When he was finished the instructor looked at me and said, "Now Zoe. How do you treat a downslipped innominate shear. Tell me about it." This is what my partner had, when half of the pelvis has slipped down a bit compared to the other half. This is REALLY EASY to treat; if it is down, push it up. How do we do that? Well, it's only the easiest and most hands-off treatment that exists on this planet. The patient bounces that side's ischial tuberosity (bony part of your butt) on the edge of the exam table a few times. The correct treatment was for my partner to bounce on his butt on the edge of the table and it still took me three attempts and then, when asked yet again, another two full seconds to realise it. When I did, I was mortified. I mean, come on. COME ON. Ugh.
Okay. Neuroanatomy time.
Thursday, February 4
Hx - Light ahead?
So you might say that blogs are my coping mechanism this semester. And I just read an entry that gives me hope, not just that things will get better at some point, but that things can get good.
Read this post and you will see what I mean.
I want that. THAT. thatthatthatthatthat (er, minus the babies and possibly the yoga). And it is so good to know that it is possible to slog through the next five years and come out the other side and be able to NOT work all the time. I will have the option of being selfish, of setting boundaries. I understand the sacrifice I'd be making, of course. Those who are excellent are not usually happy or balanced, and vice versa. But when I look ahead I see my options fanning out in front of me now; it's not just about being the best doctor possible and saving! the! world! and becoming this Doctor that everyone admires unconditionally. That's what I dreamed of, vaguely, growing up. Now, however, I can see that I would be happy in a different way just doing what I can at work, being just a doctor, and coming home and having time to be happy, to write, to read (to dig into my Bible! oh!), to sleep. To have friends. To have a husband who gets to see me every day (or close to). I love what EMPhysician said:
"I believe that being rich means having choices, period. Money certainly allows for more choices (to a point), and is therefore a necessary part of the equation. But, choosing how you spend your time, where you spend your time, who you spend your time with, etc...for me actually defines "rich." If I'm working 25 shifts/month, I may have a $30,000+ bring home salary/month, but really, I'm not rich if I have to go to work frikin 25 days/month!!"
So true. And one thing I have ALREADY learned from my tiny amount of time doing this is that I don't feel fulfilled by being hardcore. Working my butt off and being exhausted and not having time for anyone (including myself) doesn't make me feel good, it just makes me feel neglectful, neglected and tired. Don't get me wrong. I am more than willing to do what it takes to succeed over the next five or six years. I'm committed to that, and I've made my peace with it. But a large part of that being okay is the hope that there is something better on the other side of the mountain. I think if I knew without a doubt that I would always be working this hard and feeling this downtrodden, I would have to quit and... I don't know, go get my master's and do [shudder] research or something. Whatever, you get the point.
I don't think I want to sacrifice myself for my profession anymore; I don't think it would be worth it. And maybe it's a lesser goal, but I think I'd rather try to be happy.
Read this post and you will see what I mean.
I want that. THAT. thatthatthatthatthat (er, minus the babies and possibly the yoga). And it is so good to know that it is possible to slog through the next five years and come out the other side and be able to NOT work all the time. I will have the option of being selfish, of setting boundaries. I understand the sacrifice I'd be making, of course. Those who are excellent are not usually happy or balanced, and vice versa. But when I look ahead I see my options fanning out in front of me now; it's not just about being the best doctor possible and saving! the! world! and becoming this Doctor that everyone admires unconditionally. That's what I dreamed of, vaguely, growing up. Now, however, I can see that I would be happy in a different way just doing what I can at work, being just a doctor, and coming home and having time to be happy, to write, to read (to dig into my Bible! oh!), to sleep. To have friends. To have a husband who gets to see me every day (or close to). I love what EMPhysician said:
"I believe that being rich means having choices, period. Money certainly allows for more choices (to a point), and is therefore a necessary part of the equation. But, choosing how you spend your time, where you spend your time, who you spend your time with, etc...for me actually defines "rich." If I'm working 25 shifts/month, I may have a $30,000+ bring home salary/month, but really, I'm not rich if I have to go to work frikin 25 days/month!!"
So true. And one thing I have ALREADY learned from my tiny amount of time doing this is that I don't feel fulfilled by being hardcore. Working my butt off and being exhausted and not having time for anyone (including myself) doesn't make me feel good, it just makes me feel neglectful, neglected and tired. Don't get me wrong. I am more than willing to do what it takes to succeed over the next five or six years. I'm committed to that, and I've made my peace with it. But a large part of that being okay is the hope that there is something better on the other side of the mountain. I think if I knew without a doubt that I would always be working this hard and feeling this downtrodden, I would have to quit and... I don't know, go get my master's and do [shudder] research or something. Whatever, you get the point.
I don't think I want to sacrifice myself for my profession anymore; I don't think it would be worth it. And maybe it's a lesser goal, but I think I'd rather try to be happy.
Thursday, January 21
Hx - School is SO UNDER CONTROL GUYS SRSLY
I finished day 3 of the new semester today. My classes are as follows:
Medical Spanish - 1 cr
Clinical Epidemiology - 1 cr
OMM II - 2 cr
Clinical Skilz I - 3 cr
Neuroanatomy - 4 cr
Physiology - 6 cr
Microbiology/ Immunology - 6 cr
TOTAL: 23 cr
I have had all my classes except OMM, which meets tomorrow and will have few surprises. So I think I have a decent handle on what things will be like this semester.
...And it looks ballbreaking. I sort of can't believe I thought I had it tough last semester. Clinical Skilz is a flurry of medical jargon; all the students stare around at each other in total confusion. Physiology isn't too bad yet, but I have 6 hours of lecture a week, so things can only go downhill. Micro is already piling up, and this class is a bit strange because it is a bunch of stuff I already know with new things stuck in at odd places in the material. Spanish met for the first time tonight and was hilarious because I learned how to count and say the days of the week and greet people and such. [snicker] And Clinical Epi seems like it will mostly not register on my radar until I have to cram for a midterm or final. But none of this matters, because I am taking Neuroanatomy, and Neuro is to be the main focus of my life for the next few months.
There isn't a good way to describe how big this class is. Just... imagine all of the stuff your brain does. All of the ways it processes different types of information, decides what to do with that information, and then carries out its decisions, often through the spinal cord and nerves in the rest of the body. Some part of this happens with each thought, each brush of your clothing against your skin, each inhalation, each blink, each new song, each stressful set of circumstances. All of these things can be condensed into a set of neurological responses that get cycled through various parts of the brain/ nerves. I have to be able to trace these out on an actual brain/ spinal cord while being able to describe what is actually happening (chemically and functionally) and figuring out what would go wrong if anything were injured (and vice versa). My profs have this class highly organised so that we students have great access to a lot of really helpful information that is packaged for maximum retention, but none of that changes the fact that THIS IS A LOT OF STUFF. [panic]
There are two things that keep this semester from being totally overwhelming (just 80% overwhelming). 1. God is in control and I know that "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." There were many times last semester when this was my only comfort, the only thing that kept me from totally giving up on something. 2. All of the material this semester is so cool! I already know how to take blood pressure and do a basic eye exam. And today my neuro lab group looked at a real brain and for the first time, all the folds and dips and nubby bits started to make sense. That was just the best.
This entry is jumbled, sorry. But that is what is going on right now. 28 hours of class a week and not much else. This is the hardest one. Time to put my head down.
Medical Spanish - 1 cr
Clinical Epidemiology - 1 cr
OMM II - 2 cr
Clinical Skilz I - 3 cr
Neuroanatomy - 4 cr
Physiology - 6 cr
Microbiology/ Immunology - 6 cr
TOTAL: 23 cr
I have had all my classes except OMM, which meets tomorrow and will have few surprises. So I think I have a decent handle on what things will be like this semester.
...And it looks ballbreaking. I sort of can't believe I thought I had it tough last semester. Clinical Skilz is a flurry of medical jargon; all the students stare around at each other in total confusion. Physiology isn't too bad yet, but I have 6 hours of lecture a week, so things can only go downhill. Micro is already piling up, and this class is a bit strange because it is a bunch of stuff I already know with new things stuck in at odd places in the material. Spanish met for the first time tonight and was hilarious because I learned how to count and say the days of the week and greet people and such. [snicker] And Clinical Epi seems like it will mostly not register on my radar until I have to cram for a midterm or final. But none of this matters, because I am taking Neuroanatomy, and Neuro is to be the main focus of my life for the next few months.
There isn't a good way to describe how big this class is. Just... imagine all of the stuff your brain does. All of the ways it processes different types of information, decides what to do with that information, and then carries out its decisions, often through the spinal cord and nerves in the rest of the body. Some part of this happens with each thought, each brush of your clothing against your skin, each inhalation, each blink, each new song, each stressful set of circumstances. All of these things can be condensed into a set of neurological responses that get cycled through various parts of the brain/ nerves. I have to be able to trace these out on an actual brain/ spinal cord while being able to describe what is actually happening (chemically and functionally) and figuring out what would go wrong if anything were injured (and vice versa). My profs have this class highly organised so that we students have great access to a lot of really helpful information that is packaged for maximum retention, but none of that changes the fact that THIS IS A LOT OF STUFF. [panic]
There are two things that keep this semester from being totally overwhelming (just 80% overwhelming). 1. God is in control and I know that "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." There were many times last semester when this was my only comfort, the only thing that kept me from totally giving up on something. 2. All of the material this semester is so cool! I already know how to take blood pressure and do a basic eye exam. And today my neuro lab group looked at a real brain and for the first time, all the folds and dips and nubby bits started to make sense. That was just the best.
This entry is jumbled, sorry. But that is what is going on right now. 28 hours of class a week and not much else. This is the hardest one. Time to put my head down.
Thursday, January 7
Hx - El Semestre Dos
I start school tomorrow. 8am - 5pm. There are better things. There are also technically worse things.
I have decided to give in to the urge to rewrite one of my classes' names, so from now on I am taking Clinical Sk1lz I. w00t.
...OH. I got my doctor tools today! So now I have a dark green!stethoscope and an ophthalmoscope and an otoscope and a... blood pressure thingy... scope... and scissors and tuning forks and reflex hammers and it's all in a navy leather doctor bag! YAY!! This alone makes me excited about the semester, even if looking at my first set of neuroanatomy notes made me properly comatose literally within two minutes. It's okay! Because I am taking clinical sk1lz and OMM and physiology and medical spanish (I will learn the word for gallbladder. This is hilarious to me) and who knows, maybe the virology and parasitology units of microbiology will be as wicked as they sound.
Note from the future: I will not be learning the word for gallbladder. Thyroid, yes; gallbladder, unfortunately not. Also. The instrument that lets you take blood pressure is called a sphygmomanometer. See, I do learn things.
I have decided to give in to the urge to rewrite one of my classes' names, so from now on I am taking Clinical Sk1lz I. w00t.
...OH. I got my doctor tools today! So now I have a dark green!stethoscope and an ophthalmoscope and an otoscope and a... blood pressure thingy... scope... and scissors and tuning forks and reflex hammers and it's all in a navy leather doctor bag! YAY!! This alone makes me excited about the semester, even if looking at my first set of neuroanatomy notes made me properly comatose literally within two minutes. It's okay! Because I am taking clinical sk1lz and OMM and physiology and medical spanish (I will learn the word for gallbladder. This is hilarious to me) and who knows, maybe the virology and parasitology units of microbiology will be as wicked as they sound.
Note from the future: I will not be learning the word for gallbladder. Thyroid, yes; gallbladder, unfortunately not. Also. The instrument that lets you take blood pressure is called a sphygmomanometer. See, I do learn things.
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