My Anatomy final is in twenty minutes.
And so this may seem like a strange moment for a post to a blog that has been sparse for many months. But I am feeling a bit zen. Or may it's "in the zone." Upon reviewing my note cards from early in the class, I discovered that I no longer have any trouble keeping the cephalic and basilic veins straight. I am always certain which is the zygomatic and which is the sphenoid. Also that the scaphoid is in your hand and sphenoid in your head.
And of course, last week on the phone with my mother, I used about fifteen words that I have never ever used before. Thusly, I believe that I have officially become conversational (that's the one before fluent) in medicalese. The kinds of sentences that flew out of the mouths of so many in my parents' social circles as I kid that I reacted to rather disdainfully are now wandering from my own mouth.
I knew it would happen. They tell you that medical school changes you. They urge us with worried eyes to hold onto our ideals. Be humble, they say. And we try! But then, here we are, talking in this high falutin' language. Arm will never again be arm, and leg no more leg. How appalling to discover that it isn't actually called a "hamstring."
11.26.2008
11.23.2008
Wedding Dresses
Yes, this is a post about wedding dresses.
On the prosected-cadaver viewing sandwich that was my yesterday, watching Lion try on wedding dresses was the bread. My anatomy final is on Wednesday, and so she used the excuse of my cadaver-viewing to schelp into Boston for some over-the-top dress exploring.
Yes, she's planning to wear a wedding dress. Like a white one. This is because she is a virgin and wants the world to know that true love waits. OW! Ok, that's not why. Actually, despite the ridiculous patriarchy juice flavor of many traditions that swirl around marriage we're swallowing, even wanting some of them, and it's been hard to know why. The dress was something I sort of resigned myself to, not wanting one myself but knowing it was part of her vision I figured, "why not, she'll look real pretty?" Now I get it. I even get why it is that even people like us sometimes spend more on wedding dresses than I did on my lovely used Subaru.
We had said that the schmancy schmance Boston shops (one of which was Vera Wang) were just for fun, you know, so that she could get a good idea of cuts and colors and lines and whatever it is that makes for a wedding dress. I expected to be vaguely bored but appreciative of watching my honey try on pretty dresses. But then, four dresses or so in, she walked out of the dressing room and suddenly I was almost crying. This is a way that I have felt occasionally in museums and at plays. When I read poetry. Things like that. It's art. It's for your body. And it is beautiful and damn classy. And suddenly I'm wondering if it's stupid to sell my car to buy clothes for Lion to wear for six hours.
Vera Wang came after I spent a couple of hours in the anatomy lab studying. I think the helpful dress wrangler person smelled the formaldehyde on me because she seemed to keep a distance. Lion floated in and out of the dressing room, and I looked on with a visiting friend from college. We nodded and smiled mostly, but with one or two dresses our breath caught and we found ourselves "oohing" against our will. Beneath the layers of meaning and the unwieldy traditions there is this glowing in-love person ensconced in art.
We ended the day at David's Bridal, hoping to talk ourselves down from the illogical afternoon couture. And really, she tried on some gorgeous dresses there. I'm sure she could fashion a mumu out of duct tape and I'd appreciate it. And she really did look beautiful, even under the harsh lights of the Wal-Mart of weddings. But, I had to admit a sense of resignation when she looked down from her little block in front of the mirror and said, "you're not crying, though."
All sorts of ideas about consumerism and values and how we value what and where we put our money are filling me in a whole new and interesting way. Is it definitely better to spend $600 on a pretty ivory-colored dress than it is to spend $6000 on a piece of stunning well-crafted art you can wear? When it comes to the sad state of overspending on this tradition and widespread pressure to go over the top on everything, which is worse? In the scheme of things, this wedding shin-dig we're having is very much on the cheap. My grum's backyard, mostly doing the food ourselves, etc. And my outfit costs like $60. Buying cheap badly-made things because they are cheap is part of the problem, right? And obsessively cutting costs can be a kind of greediness that I don't find palatable either.
The reality is that we live off of student loans and a TA stipend. Yes our parents are helping pay for the day, but the economy sucks and we don't equate special, personal, important landmark with spending a buttload of cash. If you had asked me Friday how much we'd spend on Lion's dress, I probably would have said $300, tops, and even that would feel like a lot. But then I saw her in that blush Badgley Mischka. And it changed my world.
On the prosected-cadaver viewing sandwich that was my yesterday, watching Lion try on wedding dresses was the bread. My anatomy final is on Wednesday, and so she used the excuse of my cadaver-viewing to schelp into Boston for some over-the-top dress exploring.
Yes, she's planning to wear a wedding dress. Like a white one. This is because she is a virgin and wants the world to know that true love waits. OW! Ok, that's not why. Actually, despite the ridiculous patriarchy juice flavor of many traditions that swirl around marriage we're swallowing, even wanting some of them, and it's been hard to know why. The dress was something I sort of resigned myself to, not wanting one myself but knowing it was part of her vision I figured, "why not, she'll look real pretty?" Now I get it. I even get why it is that even people like us sometimes spend more on wedding dresses than I did on my lovely used Subaru.
We had said that the schmancy schmance Boston shops (one of which was Vera Wang) were just for fun, you know, so that she could get a good idea of cuts and colors and lines and whatever it is that makes for a wedding dress. I expected to be vaguely bored but appreciative of watching my honey try on pretty dresses. But then, four dresses or so in, she walked out of the dressing room and suddenly I was almost crying. This is a way that I have felt occasionally in museums and at plays. When I read poetry. Things like that. It's art. It's for your body. And it is beautiful and damn classy. And suddenly I'm wondering if it's stupid to sell my car to buy clothes for Lion to wear for six hours.
Vera Wang came after I spent a couple of hours in the anatomy lab studying. I think the helpful dress wrangler person smelled the formaldehyde on me because she seemed to keep a distance. Lion floated in and out of the dressing room, and I looked on with a visiting friend from college. We nodded and smiled mostly, but with one or two dresses our breath caught and we found ourselves "oohing" against our will. Beneath the layers of meaning and the unwieldy traditions there is this glowing in-love person ensconced in art.
We ended the day at David's Bridal, hoping to talk ourselves down from the illogical afternoon couture. And really, she tried on some gorgeous dresses there. I'm sure she could fashion a mumu out of duct tape and I'd appreciate it. And she really did look beautiful, even under the harsh lights of the Wal-Mart of weddings. But, I had to admit a sense of resignation when she looked down from her little block in front of the mirror and said, "you're not crying, though."
All sorts of ideas about consumerism and values and how we value what and where we put our money are filling me in a whole new and interesting way. Is it definitely better to spend $600 on a pretty ivory-colored dress than it is to spend $6000 on a piece of stunning well-crafted art you can wear? When it comes to the sad state of overspending on this tradition and widespread pressure to go over the top on everything, which is worse? In the scheme of things, this wedding shin-dig we're having is very much on the cheap. My grum's backyard, mostly doing the food ourselves, etc. And my outfit costs like $60. Buying cheap badly-made things because they are cheap is part of the problem, right? And obsessively cutting costs can be a kind of greediness that I don't find palatable either.
The reality is that we live off of student loans and a TA stipend. Yes our parents are helping pay for the day, but the economy sucks and we don't equate special, personal, important landmark with spending a buttload of cash. If you had asked me Friday how much we'd spend on Lion's dress, I probably would have said $300, tops, and even that would feel like a lot. But then I saw her in that blush Badgley Mischka. And it changed my world.
10.24.2008
Cuz She's in Doctor School
The words of our 8-year-old neighbor to her friend, as I shooed them away so that I could "do homework." This is an increasingly popular scenario at our house as our neighbor scoots down to play with our dog (a welcome distraction) and I inevitably have to toss her out to hit the books.
Because, indeed, I am in doctor school. And this is something that I have many thoughts on. It is busy, it is a lot of work, it is messy, complicated. Suddenly I feel like I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. On the train home today I found myself making lists of my values and interests, trying to keep track of what I get passionate about. I may have put a bit too much caché in the ability of medical school to define my life trajectory. There are still oh-so-many choices.
The best and hardest part about school is having found a wide number of people with genuine interest in social justice and health and how that all comes together. I say hard because between the exposure, in lunchtime talks sponsored by student organization and in our required (hooray!) social medicine and global health class, to reading and lecture after reading and lecture about just how dismal the state of health is in this country and the world it all feels about overwhelming. Suddenly the idea of how to shape the kind of medical practice I would like to have and how to ensure that it fits with the overwhelming need I am feeling to be part of the solution of widespread health disparities is constantly in the forefront of my mind.
I feel so full of statistics and measures that outline the problems. Today's lovely tidbit highlighting part of the impact of life as a Black woman in this country: infant mortality rates among Black women with a college degree is higher than that of white women who did not graduate from high school. There's one to chew on. I've also been stuck on the knowledge that Native Americans have about the worst population health in this country, and yet we have about the least amount of measured data on that population to really assess the problem. Perhaps the real kicker has been realizing more fully how little the actual health system does to address the health of the USA. Even when you're insured and well-insured and you have great doctors, our society is just set up to make us unhealthy. Here's what's on my mind. Perhaps I will begin to actually blog again.
8.13.2008
Home Differently
Here we are, barely a day away from leaving Xela. I am so not ready! Not only do I feel that I have not quite so much exactly had a vacation these past five weeks, I am going to start La Escuela Medicina on Monday.
MONDAY! Less than a week! Have I paid my termbill? Have I read that biochem book? Sent them my transcripts? Filled out that mini-survey??? No, no, no, no, no.
But, indeed all that is far off on distant shores and I refuse to feel stressed about it until at least Sunday.
Meanwhile, Guatemala. It has been mad fun. My Spanish is way better (for about the 10th time in my life) and I swearrrr that I'm going to keep practicing at home. I will not lose the subjunctive again! Well, I might. But I really am going to get me a volunteer gig that involves hablando. This country! This town! I want to stay. And I want to go home, too. Turtle says that a big reason to travel is to experience home differently when you get back. And I suppose it is true. The difference between here and the HV or Boston, which I suppose is home now, are striking and yet not so striking at times.
This is a shockingly beautiful country. Especially the mountains, from which we have not strayed far for fear of malaria. Though the bus rides have been insane and nausea-inducing at times, the vistas were almost always worth it. Lion and I spent the last week doing a little circle through the middle of the country. We lounged on the shores of Lake Atitlan, spent a quasi-terrifying night in Guatemala city (scary movie, only people in the theater, late show, appallingly bad sound quality, ominous guidbook warnings, bedbugs) then cruised through the friendly town of Jalapa, where Lion's mom lived when she was in the Peace Corps 40 years ago. After that we went up to see Semuc Champey. Champey is frequently described as "the most beautiful place in Guatemala." But people are almost always at a loss to explain it. Don't worry. We took video. Soon enough YouToo will experiene its badly-filmed greatnes. It was a magical day, to be sure. Followed by zip-lining through a coffee plantation.
What could be more quintessentially eco-touristy than zip-lining through a cooperative, shade-grown, organic coffe plantation? I dare you to come up with something.
We spent an eye-blink in Nebaj, notable for its annual festival gearing up last weekend and insanely over-priced laundry service. We actually almost cried when she told us how much she wanted for cleaning our clothes. Actually, Lion probably did cry, as is her way.
Now back in Xela, we're chilling out at CBA and getting somethings done on the "Proyecto" we're helping them with. This has included sign-painting and shakey video taking, among other things. This has been a good month, especially for reflection. On human rights, on what one needs, on what constitutes being poor, being happy, being friendly, being thoughtful. Hugo and ElBia graciously tell us that we're not like other USAers. From the gringo conversations we overhear somedays in cafes, I dearly hope we're not. But then there are also many more dedicated and interested and thoughtful as well. Ah, well. More serious stuff later.
MONDAY! Less than a week! Have I paid my termbill? Have I read that biochem book? Sent them my transcripts? Filled out that mini-survey??? No, no, no, no, no.
But, indeed all that is far off on distant shores and I refuse to feel stressed about it until at least Sunday.
Meanwhile, Guatemala. It has been mad fun. My Spanish is way better (for about the 10th time in my life) and I swearrrr that I'm going to keep practicing at home. I will not lose the subjunctive again! Well, I might. But I really am going to get me a volunteer gig that involves hablando. This country! This town! I want to stay. And I want to go home, too. Turtle says that a big reason to travel is to experience home differently when you get back. And I suppose it is true. The difference between here and the HV or Boston, which I suppose is home now, are striking and yet not so striking at times.
This is a shockingly beautiful country. Especially the mountains, from which we have not strayed far for fear of malaria. Though the bus rides have been insane and nausea-inducing at times, the vistas were almost always worth it. Lion and I spent the last week doing a little circle through the middle of the country. We lounged on the shores of Lake Atitlan, spent a quasi-terrifying night in Guatemala city (scary movie, only people in the theater, late show, appallingly bad sound quality, ominous guidbook warnings, bedbugs) then cruised through the friendly town of Jalapa, where Lion's mom lived when she was in the Peace Corps 40 years ago. After that we went up to see Semuc Champey. Champey is frequently described as "the most beautiful place in Guatemala." But people are almost always at a loss to explain it. Don't worry. We took video. Soon enough YouToo will experiene its badly-filmed greatnes. It was a magical day, to be sure. Followed by zip-lining through a coffee plantation.
What could be more quintessentially eco-touristy than zip-lining through a cooperative, shade-grown, organic coffe plantation? I dare you to come up with something.
We spent an eye-blink in Nebaj, notable for its annual festival gearing up last weekend and insanely over-priced laundry service. We actually almost cried when she told us how much she wanted for cleaning our clothes. Actually, Lion probably did cry, as is her way.
Now back in Xela, we're chilling out at CBA and getting somethings done on the "Proyecto" we're helping them with. This has included sign-painting and shakey video taking, among other things. This has been a good month, especially for reflection. On human rights, on what one needs, on what constitutes being poor, being happy, being friendly, being thoughtful. Hugo and ElBia graciously tell us that we're not like other USAers. From the gringo conversations we overhear somedays in cafes, I dearly hope we're not. But then there are also many more dedicated and interested and thoughtful as well. Ah, well. More serious stuff later.
7.21.2008
Guatemala Loves Lesbians!
Ok, that is probably just blatantly untrue. But, so far, Guatemala seems fond of this odd specimin of sapphic gringa. In some ways this is the first time that I have really come out to people in the direct "I have a novia" kind of way. My maestro, Roberto, as well as a few other folks it´s come up with have been somewhat curiously delighted. None of them seem to have ever been aware of a lesbian in their midst before. I´m enjoying it. Roberto seems intent on being overtly accepting. Last week he told me that he was also a lesbian because of his significant affection for women. Though his jokes are frequently problematic and he´s not quite able to understand why they´re sexist when they´re "only a joke," I appreciate that he´s trying. He delights in using Lion in sentance examples and asking questions about when she´s getting here. Marcos was his personal brand of energetic and relaxed about the whole thing. He reported later to DHM that I was his first, and like a pro she corrected him, "first you who knew about." She also took him to task later for his off-hand comment that he didn´t like it when women spoke. Boy did I enjoy watching himself try to dig himself out of the "but women are delicate" hole. Tee-hee! And Julio! Well done, despite his quite Catholic ways! He even copped to know some gay dudes at his Universidad.
Lion and Turtle should be here in less than an hour. I can´t wait. I have received some news related to the impending doom that is medical school (buy this book and re-learn biochem, or else!!) which has set me on edge differently than I have been since we got here. Bueno. Necesito hacer mi tarea.
Lion and Turtle should be here in less than an hour. I can´t wait. I have received some news related to the impending doom that is medical school (buy this book and re-learn biochem, or else!!) which has set me on edge differently than I have been since we got here. Bueno. Necesito hacer mi tarea.
7.20.2008
In this other place
Hello, World from Xela, Guatemala.
I hardly know where to start. Is it people or places? In my recent musings on the HV, I've stuck to places. Though in my own journal last night, it was all people. How about some background and then we'll have some of both.
I'm here with DHM (my formerly downstairs housemate). and her sister. Lion and Turtle come tomorrow! Hurrah! I am pathetic mess trying to get along sans Lion. Xela, if you're not familiar, is in the Western highlands of Guatemala (which, if you're really unfamiliar is just South of Mexico). It's a big, but not huge, dirty, beautiful, chaotic. Brightly colored then drab. There are many more gringos than I remember from a visit three years back, but not the city doesn't cater to them in the same overwhelming way it does in some places. We passed the last week quietly. I've been pouring a healthy amount of WD-40 across my quite rusty Spanish skills at CBA. My maestro, Roberto, could have come directly from the stock on my high school math team. So very familiar is his personality, complete with engineering school, awkward jokes, a passion for Beavis and Butthead, and a slightly hesitant and very genuine friendliness. I feel a heck of a lot more confident speaking than I did six days ago, though a big stack of vocab flashcards would be useful. At CBA, we're tended to by the director Hugo and his wife, Elbia. They are just the sort of kind, thoughtful and open people you'd want to find yourself tended by in an unfamiliar place. Or in any place, really. I am nurturing a hope that friends here can stay friends for a long time. After several visits over the last few years, DHM has compiled a healthy bunch of friends here. DHM has a healthy disdain for the rest of the gringo population, and it leads us well into hole-in-the wall restaurants. There is a funniness in watching the bevy of Guatemalan male devotees that she and her sister have acquired. Nery, Julio, Marcos, Oswaldo, Javier. Marcos is my favorite, a student, musician and laundromat attendant, he is gregarious, thoughtful and really dang fun. Plus he managed to cut off at the pass a couple of viejos trying to hit on us the other night. This culture is, I am constantly reminded, quite different than the one I'm used to. The sexism on the streets is more overt and among even DHM's enlightened friends, an active mental struggle. There seems to be a way in which we, as women less culturally trained to be reserved, are easier to befriend for them. And for us it has been more difficult to make friends of women at least partially because they are less willing to join in on late night (Claudia, who runs our hostal refers to DHM, her sister and I as "las vampiras") outings to cantinas and dance joints. And then there is the flirting. I have not felt like I was flirting with men in a very long time. With all men, here, I seem to be flirting though I have made it a point to connect myself to the word "lesbiana." This gender interplay is something I'm just starting to process, really.
Still on NY time, I started out waking up a few hours before the others. I passed my mornings wandering the streets and trying (often failing) to get my bearings with the tiny map torn from Lonely Planet (Roberto calls it the Gringo bible). We have a great restaurante down the block which serves up a typical breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, platanos with crema, coffee and chips for 15Q or about $2. Though we have a kitchen here, I've found myself drawn down the the restaurante to watch the owner's children play in and out of the kitchen. The coffee is terrible, though so I prowled around various coffee shops until discovering Dante, which really does cater to gringos, but its proprietor, Maria makes a mean latte. Plus she's incredibly chatty and doesn't seem to mind the syntax-confusing pauses that riddle my spanish. And she has a cute baby. Cute babies everywhere, money nowhere. Lack of family planning and sexism going hand in hand, what a surprise.
I hardly know where to start. Is it people or places? In my recent musings on the HV, I've stuck to places. Though in my own journal last night, it was all people. How about some background and then we'll have some of both.
I'm here with DHM (my formerly downstairs housemate). and her sister. Lion and Turtle come tomorrow! Hurrah! I am pathetic mess trying to get along sans Lion. Xela, if you're not familiar, is in the Western highlands of Guatemala (which, if you're really unfamiliar is just South of Mexico). It's a big, but not huge, dirty, beautiful, chaotic. Brightly colored then drab. There are many more gringos than I remember from a visit three years back, but not the city doesn't cater to them in the same overwhelming way it does in some places. We passed the last week quietly. I've been pouring a healthy amount of WD-40 across my quite rusty Spanish skills at CBA. My maestro, Roberto, could have come directly from the stock on my high school math team. So very familiar is his personality, complete with engineering school, awkward jokes, a passion for Beavis and Butthead, and a slightly hesitant and very genuine friendliness. I feel a heck of a lot more confident speaking than I did six days ago, though a big stack of vocab flashcards would be useful. At CBA, we're tended to by the director Hugo and his wife, Elbia. They are just the sort of kind, thoughtful and open people you'd want to find yourself tended by in an unfamiliar place. Or in any place, really. I am nurturing a hope that friends here can stay friends for a long time. After several visits over the last few years, DHM has compiled a healthy bunch of friends here. DHM has a healthy disdain for the rest of the gringo population, and it leads us well into hole-in-the wall restaurants. There is a funniness in watching the bevy of Guatemalan male devotees that she and her sister have acquired. Nery, Julio, Marcos, Oswaldo, Javier. Marcos is my favorite, a student, musician and laundromat attendant, he is gregarious, thoughtful and really dang fun. Plus he managed to cut off at the pass a couple of viejos trying to hit on us the other night. This culture is, I am constantly reminded, quite different than the one I'm used to. The sexism on the streets is more overt and among even DHM's enlightened friends, an active mental struggle. There seems to be a way in which we, as women less culturally trained to be reserved, are easier to befriend for them. And for us it has been more difficult to make friends of women at least partially because they are less willing to join in on late night (Claudia, who runs our hostal refers to DHM, her sister and I as "las vampiras") outings to cantinas and dance joints. And then there is the flirting. I have not felt like I was flirting with men in a very long time. With all men, here, I seem to be flirting though I have made it a point to connect myself to the word "lesbiana." This gender interplay is something I'm just starting to process, really.
Still on NY time, I started out waking up a few hours before the others. I passed my mornings wandering the streets and trying (often failing) to get my bearings with the tiny map torn from Lonely Planet (Roberto calls it the Gringo bible). We have a great restaurante down the block which serves up a typical breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, platanos with crema, coffee and chips for 15Q or about $2. Though we have a kitchen here, I've found myself drawn down the the restaurante to watch the owner's children play in and out of the kitchen. The coffee is terrible, though so I prowled around various coffee shops until discovering Dante, which really does cater to gringos, but its proprietor, Maria makes a mean latte. Plus she's incredibly chatty and doesn't seem to mind the syntax-confusing pauses that riddle my spanish. And she has a cute baby. Cute babies everywhere, money nowhere. Lack of family planning and sexism going hand in hand, what a surprise.
7.10.2008
I'm going to take this as a sign
That med school is the right choice
Your results:
You are Beverly Crusher
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Also, my next best ones bag a lot of ladies... so...
Your results:
You are Beverly Crusher
| A good physician and a caring parent. You are devoted to your children and to your occupation.  |
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Also, my next best ones bag a lot of ladies... so...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
