Life and death
Looking back, there are at least two memorable moments in my residency. One was the 90 year old patient been visited by his demented wife before he goes on comfort care. Other was the birth of first child for a fellow doctor who is my age. Perhaps they are memorable and reminds me of one another because of the symbolism of life and death, their diametric opposition, and that they happened almost exactly one year apart, book-ending one of the most difficult years in my adult life. The year has been a struggle. It had some brief highs, but mostly dark, soul-crashing, lows. I am still digging my way out of it. I was surprised by how intimate and personal it felt watch the old couple saying goodbye, one hopelessly comatosed and other blissfully ignorant. That was when I realized how close to the surface my own fear of mortality is. On the other hand, I was surprised by how deeply touched and truly happy I felt for the couple with their first baby. Perhaps people in their teens and twenty, lucky (or unlucky) enough to have had two or three children, have forgotten how truly special and precious it is. Having walked down the same road, I can imagine the inner fear and maybe regret of another physician having chosen the path and having to delay their own family. The tears upon hearing the first cry of the baby must felt like the culmination of a life's struggle. I am happy for them, and maybe one day...
Question: Dejavu
Just driving to Westwood, preparing for my interview at UCLA. Suddenly, I had a flash back to three years ago, when I drove my parents to have dinner the night before my UCLA interview for residency. Driving back on 405, I had to smile at the memory of drining up from San Diego Freeway and getting lost on my way to my cousin's dorm party at USC. That was 10 years ago! Did time fly. College, med school, residency and now fellowship, I sometimes feel like the hamster running in the wheel. The world is out there. I have been "training" for it for so long. The obstacle remains the same-trying to convince other people to take my words and a few numbers on paper that I am good enough.
I shouldn't complain. If only the rest of the life is this simple. Words and number are not quite enough in real life and relationships, aren't they? I have never been shy about reaching for the stars when it comes to academics or career, yet that confidence stops there. People actually like my personal statement, so I have been told. Then why am I so inept with words in everyday conversation? Still looking for the answer.
Question: blame it on the government?
Haven't heard from a certain person for a long time now. It occurred to me perhaps she is finally gotten engaged. Well, it HAS been a year. Moving on is probably good and it would make things less awkward when our paths cross again, which will be inevitable. If so, I imagine this must be the greatest time in her life, reaching milestones in both her personal and professional life. I'm happy for you, you deserve it all.
A lot of introspection and projection on my part. San Francisco no longer the dream, the ultimate fulfillment it once was. The emptiness is still there, demanding as ever. Will the answer be research in a new lab? Fellowship on the other side of the country? Perhaps even volunteering and missions? Why is it so difficult to make myself content and happy?
A revelation came as I watched my roommate's interaction with his father. He is also an only child, and I see shadows of myself in him and the way he orders and reacts to his father. My flaws are many, but one of the biggest was a fear of rejection. It is paralyzing and wrecks havoc in my social interactions. Looking back, my parents, and my extended family are nothing but nurturing. Despite their divorce, my parents clearly loved me. But it is precisely because I am the only child, the oldest child in the extended family, I never had to worry about competing for people's affection and being rejected. I expect unconditioned love from those close to me, their acceptance despite my imperfections, that I am intensely insecure in front of strangers. I wonder if this is true of other only childs. Do only childs have more difficulty with intimate relationships? Do they over-achieve to compensate for their fear of rejection? Can I blame my ineptitude in relationship on my parents reproductive decisions? Can I blame everything wrong with my life on the Chinese government and its One Child policy? I hope not.
Question: best meal ever?
I love gnocchi. One of the best meals I have had was in Naples, Italy. It was there where I first tasted the fluffy, buttery morsels of potato heaven. Ever since, I have this craving for great gnocchi, and whenever I'm in a half decent Italian restaurant, I'm tempted to order it, trying to duplicate that meal. I have been to more famous, popular and fancier restaurants since, but it hasn't happened yet. Ironically, I don't remember the name of that restaurant. Or the neighborhood. Or whether it was the city of Naples for that matter.
Intellectually, I understand this phenomenon, Everything around that meal was serendipitous. I was on my first trip to Europe and Italy. The trip was a last minute, a spurt of the moment decision. I was traveling with one of my best friends from school. We just happened to run into two other friends out of the blue, five thousand miles and an ocean away from home. The restaurant was nondescript and unpretentious. The menu's English more "abstract" than functional. The selections were random. Of course the meal was magical.
I would never be able to find that little restaurant again. But I don't regret that. It gave me wonderful memories about a time in my life. My search for the great gnocchi is more of a yearning than a regret that I didn't stay there longer, take photos, or write down the address and the name. Isn't that the reason we continue to go to new restaurants, to recapture the magical feeling and create more memories? I realize this is much similar to a failed relationship. I should feel lucky that after the goodbye, all I have are the wonderful memories. For a long time, I was full of regret, but that is foolish. I should be grateful. The relationship is over just as I would never go back to that magical gnocchi again. What I have is the yearning for finding that special feeling again-that I truly loved someone and I was loved. I am the lucky one. I could be the one that left the relationship only remembering the shouting, the fights and the slammed doors. Just as I'm sure not everyone at that restaurant that night had as good of a time as I did, like my friend and his ex-girlfriend. So my search continues, for love and the love of gnocchi.
Question: do you know what holiday it is this weekend?
President's Day of course. Well maybe. Leading up it, this was known among my friends and family as the NBA All-Star Weekend. No, not the All-Star Game, but a whole weekend, rookie challenge, skills competition, three point shoot out, slam dunk contest, and of course, parties. A weekend when the stars of NBA baseketball, along with their entourage and anyone who want a piece of these stars, converge on the city of Angels. Or
Black Thanksgiving as David Aldridge or perhaps it was Michael Wilbon called it on CNN. He is catching a lot of flak for that.
However, 2100 miles east of Los Angeles, some people in Alabama are celebrating the President's Holiday honoring both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson's birthdays, so they say. They are doing so by reenacting the inauguration of another president Jefferson,
Jefferson Davis of the Confederacy, that is. The motivation for the inclusion of Thomas Jefferson in the south for this holiday is patently transparent. The President's day celebrates two of the greatest U.S. presidents, Washington and Lincoln, both born in February. Thomas Jefferson was born in April! But JEFFERSON DAVIS was inaugurated in February 22, 182. Although he died in 1826, Thomas Jefferson Day was not written into law until 1938. But nonetheless, the occasion seems a good enough reason to get dressed up like rebels, scream some treasonous slogans, and reinvent the history.
I found this quote particularly powerful, as one Son of Confederate Veterans asked, "“What is it in a man...that would cause him to deny his fellow man the pride and dignity of his heritage?” I don't know what heritage he is proud of. Last night, I watched the players (who are black) compete in the dunk contest. No, to claim that dunking or basketball in general has become the black heritage would be an insult to African Americans and to basketball. But dunking two, three basketballs at once is not the basketball of Dr James Naismith, who invented the sport in 1891. The contribution of Black players to the sport is undeniable, and watch players
soaring over the rim, twisting and gyrating, and finally punishing the rim, these are the distillation of their voice, their aspiration and their culture. To deny that NBA is not "black" is like to deny the Civil War had nothing to do with slavery.
I'm just glad that based on the ratings, the "Black Thanksgiving" has a lot more followers than Jefferson's Day.
"Every time I think I'm out...
they pull me back in." I thought I can sleep in on Sunday after two weeks of nights at the county hospital. No luck. Three pages at 7am woke me up, and 10 minutes later, I'm racing back for another day shift when the rest of SF sleep off its hangover. 13 shifts in 14 days and probably around 170 hours is a little rough. Oddly, I love working at the county hospital-it is my favorite site. I rather stay up all night, popping in a-lines and cordises (sp?), and double fisting pumps to infuse packed cells and FFP into half dead guys than almost anything else in the world. Yes, on some level we all dread the lack of resource or technology at such hospitals that depend on government founding and hampered by state regulations. Not to mention the lack of medical history from most of the patients. And there is the language barrier, Spanish, Chinese, Tagalog, Vietnamese, the list goes on. But in some ways, it is more rewarding taking care of under-served populations. I always do my best and they appreciate that (even if they can't tell me in words).
Compare to the 20 year old that had the million dollar ( or three) work up for chronic fatigue, who needs another diagnostic surgery to make a futile grab at an impossible diagnosis and wants to dictate her own anesthesia, give me a break. Or that 50 year old with an allergy list longer most people's medication list, dear lord. Sometimes, it is us doctors' fault. The problem of working at a research hospital is that the doctors study zebras, collect zebras, and so they see zebras everywhere. What, a test is negative, then it's only more interesting because the zebra is more elusive.
I think I have found my calling in the county hospital. Just let me take calls. Traumas, emergency, not to mention gyne diseaster saves, they float my boat. Now, if I could only learn to speak Spanish. I cannot describe the awesome feeling when I walk into a room, after been told that "we need to get a Cantonese interpreter," then proceed to make the patient magically start speaking Mandarin, calm the freaked out patient and the frantic nurses down, and sail into the OR. Done and done. Imagine the double threat of Chinese and Spanish working in this city, it more than compensates for my lack of English.
THE Question.
Still in search for that purpose and meaning in life. Am I defined by how others perceive me? Is my sense of self worth so dependent on what others think? Do I seek to be approved? This IS what I have been doing for most of my life. Approval from parents, teachers, coaches, and attendings. But this clearly will not last, not to mention is incredibly depressing. Do I want to be feared then? It is easy to do. Quick put downs, clever come backs, unpredictable burst of anger and an air of superiority are within my usual repertoire. I have been guilty of plenty in the past, but fear is draining, on me and those around me. Fear does not equal respect. Then, is it admiration what I am seeking? A life long over-achiever, I seek out areas that I excel, and try to be the best. Perhaps more than the approval from my elders, I want the admiration from my peers. "I am better than you." "I am smarter than you." "Look up to me." Admiration can be done from a distant, like a star, the light is bright but cold, and others don't have to get too close to me. No one gets hurt. But it hasn't been enough, has it? Do I secretly yearn to be loved more than feared or admired? Is that what I have been missing?
No, I refuse to believe that my life is defined by perception of others. The answer must be from within. All my life, I have been driven from within, whether it is fear, competitiveness, ego or vanity (but mostly fear). That is what is missing right now, FEAR. I'm not scared anymore by work/career. There is no more make-or-break tests that I have to ace. No more best school I have to enter. No more interviewer that I have to impress in 15 minutes or my life "would be over." I can be on cruise control and my life would be golden. What would motivate me now? The search continues.
Question: what's up with monkfish?
Oh, I love monkfish liver. It's SO LUXURIOUSLY TASTY. Sashimi style. Lightly seared. Poach and with ponzu sauce. It's silly good no matter which way you cook it (or not cook it). Monkfish liver has essentially replaced uni as my favorite sushi in a Japanese restaurant. But monkfish itself remains an enigma to me. I have ordered monkfish in Korean restaurants several times, either steamed or in a stew, and I always left disappointed. The meat is chewy and tough, a lot of bones and very little reward. The same cannot be said about the pig. Every part of pig can be tasty. Chops. Loin. Ribs. Intestines. Cheek. Ear. And even, brain. Okay fine, I'm in love with the hog too. How is it possible that one part of the fish can be so heavenly and another so inedible.
Funny how I keep ordering monkfish in the restaurants. I should know better. I wonder if I'm letting my memories and love of its liver cloud my judgment. Yes, the liver was good when I can get it but it's irrational to continue to believe that I can replace my yearning for it with a different part of the fish. Kind of like another problem I have in my life, wanting something that I can't have. Oh well, I guess there is always pork.
