How much do I rock?
2.07.2009
NAME THAT CLOUD
That's right, everyone, this is what I was actually doing when I told Lion on the phone that I was "studying."
How much do I rock?
How much do I rock?
12.18.2008
Dear Mr. Obama: We're Still Hurting
At this moment I wish very sincerely that Barack Obama could have felt the way I did on election night. I don't now believe that he has any real understanding of what it meant for LGBT Americans, so many of whom worked tirelessly to put him in office, to watch the passage of Prop 8 in California. To see not just rights denied as in the many other states that have passed similar measures, but rights taken away from those to whom they had been granted, that was just crushing. We are still licking our wounds, even those of us who watched from across the country unable to do much more than send a bit out a medical student's living allowance to help the cause. If anyone reading this wants to get a better sense of that pain, go over to Lesbian Dad and read pretty much any entry from the last three months. And so, to choose Rick Warren to speak at your inauguration in the name of inclusion, just pretty much redoubles the pain we had barely begun to heal from. Why is it so important to include those who campaigned against Obama, but not those who worked for him? It is NOT OK for Rick Warren, a man who has equated Lion's and my upcoming wedding to a grown man marrying a child, to speak at inauguration, I don't care how eloquently the man talks about climate change. Look, I know that Obama doesn't openly support gay marriage and he hasn't been awesome on all of the the LGBT issues, but he opposed Prop 8 so it's not like this man is representative of his position. We are still hurting, Mr. Obama. It was disappointing enough for you to tease us with the possible appointment of a lesbian for labor secretary, but please don't give a national microphone to someone working to invalidate my life. DAMMIT. It's personal.
I guess what matters is that people who think with Warren hold a great deal of power in this country.
For some good analysis, see Bilerico, Pam's House Blend,
I guess what matters is that people who think with Warren hold a great deal of power in this country.
For some good analysis, see Bilerico, Pam's House Blend,
12.11.2008
New Arguments
At this point in the game, I am sometimes shocked when I discover a new argument for gay rights or any other position I've been engaged in mulling over for some time. After many years as Captain Gay of many a gay club, and far too much blog reading it's just not expected. And of all sources, I hardly expected it to come from Jon Stewart. In the video below, which I stumbled across via feminsting, he takes on Mike Huckabee on same-sex marriage. Most of the discussion is old-hat, though interesting to hear played out face-to-face. What struck me was the point that Jon makes that one is much more likely to choose their religion than to be gay and that we protect people's religious practice as a right.
Now, I'm not really one for the "is it a choice or not" debate. A good liberal arts grad knows that the answer is unlikely to be either/or but rather both/and. BUT I often hear that things such as sexual orientation and gender identity do not deserve to be protected classes because one can't prove them to be inborn and unchangeable in the same way that skin color is largely inborn and unchangeable. While I've always rejected the premise of the argument that rights ought to be doled out on the basis of provably inborn and unchangeable-ness it never plum occurred to me that one could counter that so very simply and elegant with the example of religious choice. Holy rebuttal, batman!
Now, I'm not really one for the "is it a choice or not" debate. A good liberal arts grad knows that the answer is unlikely to be either/or but rather both/and. BUT I often hear that things such as sexual orientation and gender identity do not deserve to be protected classes because one can't prove them to be inborn and unchangeable in the same way that skin color is largely inborn and unchangeable. While I've always rejected the premise of the argument that rights ought to be doled out on the basis of provably inborn and unchangeable-ness it never plum occurred to me that one could counter that so very simply and elegant with the example of religious choice. Holy rebuttal, batman!
12.07.2008
Moms and Forgetting
Something adorably funny and oh-so-typical for our family happened to my mother this week. Dad reports in smatters:
I’m just going to get it out there: I have a horrific and unreasonable Mommy complex.
1. I antagonize my mother at strange times for no significant reason.
2. I love, respect, ask for, value and am interested by her advice. And yet I am unthinkably skeptical the moment she offers it.
3. I am afraid that she’ll direct my choices for me even though she’s always encouraged me to be strong and independent (see 2).
4. I am afraid that I’ll become her, because we went to the same prep school and did some of the same things and now I’m in med school and interested in basically the same field of practice that she’s in. I’m worried that I choose these things because I already know what they look like from watching her, not because they are what I really want. At the same time I'm afraid I can't live up to her.
What’s crazy about being worried about being so much like her is that she is awesome as a role model and a mom. She is awesome in all ways! I mean, she is actually the kind of person that I do want to be. She is a great doctor. She’s very well respected in the community where I grew up as well as in her field. In fact, I had no clue how impressive and unusual her practice was before I started med school. She is a family physician who provides a huge range of care even beyond what the majority in her field do, such as c-sections. When I tell my classmates about her, they usually respond with “I had no idea that was even possible!” For the most part I’m probably more worried about living up to her example than anything else. This is why my dad's story is so awesomely comforting. I have always thought that I learned things best when I had to really articulate them to someone else. Thankfully, the educational method at this med school of mine makes me do that quite a bit. Hence, it has been really frustrating to realize that I can explain something quite well to a friend and then see it on an exam a week later and not really remember what it was. Knowing that not only do my mom and I share an amazing ability to underestimate how long things will take, over schedule, forget meetings, leave important items in restaurants/on trains, double-schedule, repeat conversations we’ve already had… but we also share the awesome ability to forget information we taught to others.
“[My Mom] was doing an on-line recertification quiz late last night. It was one of those things where they ask you the question, immediately tell you if you’re wrong, and if so, they give you references to the right answer. She got one wrong and looked at the reference. It was a paper she had co-authored herself.”Oh, the comfort I draw from such stories!
I’m just going to get it out there: I have a horrific and unreasonable Mommy complex.
1. I antagonize my mother at strange times for no significant reason.
2. I love, respect, ask for, value and am interested by her advice. And yet I am unthinkably skeptical the moment she offers it.
3. I am afraid that she’ll direct my choices for me even though she’s always encouraged me to be strong and independent (see 2).
4. I am afraid that I’ll become her, because we went to the same prep school and did some of the same things and now I’m in med school and interested in basically the same field of practice that she’s in. I’m worried that I choose these things because I already know what they look like from watching her, not because they are what I really want. At the same time I'm afraid I can't live up to her.
What’s crazy about being worried about being so much like her is that she is awesome as a role model and a mom. She is awesome in all ways! I mean, she is actually the kind of person that I do want to be. She is a great doctor. She’s very well respected in the community where I grew up as well as in her field. In fact, I had no clue how impressive and unusual her practice was before I started med school. She is a family physician who provides a huge range of care even beyond what the majority in her field do, such as c-sections. When I tell my classmates about her, they usually respond with “I had no idea that was even possible!” For the most part I’m probably more worried about living up to her example than anything else. This is why my dad's story is so awesomely comforting. I have always thought that I learned things best when I had to really articulate them to someone else. Thankfully, the educational method at this med school of mine makes me do that quite a bit. Hence, it has been really frustrating to realize that I can explain something quite well to a friend and then see it on an exam a week later and not really remember what it was. Knowing that not only do my mom and I share an amazing ability to underestimate how long things will take, over schedule, forget meetings, leave important items in restaurants/on trains, double-schedule, repeat conversations we’ve already had… but we also share the awesome ability to forget information we taught to others.
11.26.2008
A Final-y Post
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."
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."
11.23.2008
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.
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