tellmetellmetellmetellme

Today, during lunch hour, I went to a presentation given by INF.  They are a Christian nonprofit that is based in Nepal, where they have made an astounding impact.  A bit of history is necessary here.  Foreigners, especially white people, were not allowed into Nepal until the 50s, but a brave trio - two female doctors and a nurse - lived in India on the border with Nepal for years, running a clinic and building ties with the Nepali people who crossed over to see them, and praying and praying for the border to be opened.  They were the first ones through when it finally was, and that was the beginning of INF.  And in a country where Christians are not welcome, INF has become entrenched, providing such essential medical/ surgical and community development services that the government openly allows them to stay despite their faith.

I sat there, absorbed, and feeling both thrilled and frustrated.  It sounded fantastic, but no more than that.  Something was missing, a rising in my soul.  This isn't about being picky.  This is about waiting on the Lord's guidance.  I want so much to go overseas and serve.  The little taste I've gotten of it has only increased my appetite.  So I keep going to these presentations and meetings for Ethiopia, Afghanistan, China, India, Mexico, praying and hoping for that moment when God taps me on the shoulder and says, That's it.  There.  Go there.  I know it's coming.  I just don't know when.

I know that His timing is perfect.  He won't direct Matt and me too early or too late.  In the meantime, I'm trying to stay involved in the community I think I will be part of someday, learning about social justice and crossculturalism and the true experience of ministry and on and on.  I know that the Lord is preparing my husband and me for something specific, the way He does for all His children. 

Mostly I find rest in just knowing that there is a plan and it is a good one.  But on days like today, I just want to know what it is!  Where are we going, Lord?  What will we be doing when we get there?  -stamps foot-  And are we there yet?

I tell you, if He weren't possessed of perfect patience, He would pull this car over and give me a spanking, because I would be driving Him crazy.

On Gratitude.

Today we second years had an unexpected treat.  One of our instructors brought some of his rheumatoid arthritis patients into our lab to talk to us.  It was nice because it was easy, which we all needed because we have a pretty major test tomorrow morning.  But it was also nice because it's rare to get the chance to just talk to a patient and learn about how their lives are going and how their disease really impacts that. 

One of the patients pleaded with us to have sympathy and patience with people who claim to be in pain but look fine.  Another proudly showed us how much she'd recovered while on treatment.  "I've had flares where I couldn't move, but now I'm pretty good, look," she said as she opened and closed both hands, then raised her arms out in front and then above her head. "I can straighten out my elbows all the way, and walk, and pick things up.  It's a pretty big change."

It really got me thinking about how far I've come.  You see, I've been in their shoes.  During high school/ college, I suffered from such debilitating back pain I wondered at times if I was going to end up in a wheelchair.  I know what it's like to have yet another specialist looking at you with suspicion because you look fine despite your complaints; I know how infuriating it is to see "poss. somatization" written on your chart.  But thanks be to God, I got better, and so I know how that feels too.  I was afraid to try things at first.  I was convinced I would overdo it and bring the pain and weakness back.  But now?  I can run, lift things, touch my toes, sit in chairs.  It's amazing.  But that change happened several years ago, and I haven't been celebrating it recently.

So tonight I put on shorts and loud music, and I danced.  By myself, in my little living room, despite the looming exam, I danced.  Because I can.  Because there are people who can't.  And because but for the grace of the living Christ, I would still be one of them.

So, about this third year you keep mentioning

My desktop tells me I am 27 days from the end of my second year of medical school.  I just sighed out loud.  It's an idea that I want to place on the table in front of me and just gaze at.  Wait, scratch that, it's not tactile enough.  I want to really understand that fact.  I always have this weird sense that if I could just have a physical interface with an idea, I could get into it so much better.  Eat it, rub it into my skin, smell it, mess with it like silly putty.  Something.  Then I could really, on every level, know that this is coming to an end.  It might make me appreciate the present-future a tiny bit.  As it is now, though, I can focus on the next hour, and I can focus on third year.  I have some sense that I should be looking around and trying to milk a bit of something from right now to be nostalgic about later.  It's not even the desire, though.  Just the desire for the desire to enjoy this a little.

And so I have been dreaming endlessly of third year.  What will I do?  What will I see?  What will I wear?

What?  It matters.

...Yes, it does.

Yes.

Yes, it does.  I'm not arguing anymore.  Female professionals understand this.  Hmph.

I've heard a lot of people, especially from Other Schools (oh, those distant and slightly ominous places), bitch about how miserable third year is.  But I am determined to be excited about it.  I have successfully convinced myself that third year will be a vast improvement over first and second.  Example: my feet will hurt instead of my neck!

...Well.  Let's try another one.  I will be confused about what to do instead of what to read!  No, no, that doesn't help my case either.  Er...

...I will only have to study a week or two out of every month?  Yes!  You see, a definite improvement!  And on a more serious note, I am really looking forward to putting all of this teaching into a clinical format mentally.  Don't get me wrong, they really try to give us clinical experiences in the form of timed visits and lots of mock H&Ps (history and physical).  It could never be enough, though.  They teach us how the body is put together, and they teach us how to examine it; on the other side of things, they teach us how things go wrong and what is done to (attempt to) fix those things.  But synthesizing all of that into a huge algorithm that combines reasoning and behaviour can only be done in the clinics through endless repetition.  I know so little right now.

I am thankful that I already have the interpersonal part down, and that gives me a little hope for myself.  Some of my classmates are clumsy in the exam room; they fumble with instruments and forget what they're saying; they blush during exams.  That might be the only part I don't struggle with right now.  But several of my instructors have reassured me that all of the other stuff just needs to be taught and reinforced.  I just pray I learn well.

Oh, and I guess I have Level 1 to get through, which I have to pass to start my clinical years.  But whatever.  BRING IT ON, COMLEX.  I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU.  And by that I mean please go easy on me and let me pass through quietly to third year.  Please?