I ended up back in the hospital over vacation*** Continue reading
Lots of my friends registered for the USMLE Step 1 this weekend, displaying confirmatory white sheets of printer paper with some fancy 580 dollar embossed stamp. Not as uninhibited after our final exam of the first block, I’d hesitated, was hesitating, am ruminating, all in some near paralyzed fashion.
Do you dare, darling? Continue reading
Confession: I have three children.*
You could say I’m a terrible mother since I see them only once in a whole week. And even on that one day, I give them around an hour, tops. Never an excuse but ever a reality, med school doesn’t leave tons of time to raise an armful of girls. I have soak up every moment when I can. And come Wednesdays, I do. Continue reading
Just this Wednesday my friend told me I was confused about the community clinic schedule. While I often function in this perpetual state of absentmindedness and misreading-ness and plain not-knowing-ness, I reacted having forgotten, once more, those personality flaws–
Whadd’you mean?! I signed up to work the free clinic this Saturday! It’s my first time.
My face made a happy smile.
She winced for a half second as if mentally fact checking, No, I schedule medical students and I didn’t see you on the list for this weekend.
I could have let it go. I thought about studying. But am I so glad I texted my friend, one who loves spontaneity more than myself, two nights ago. Her movie-theater-turned-giant-church invited everyone to a concert by their hometown guys who made it big. But even yesterday morning, my thoughts remained divided. Will they even need volunteers? Don’t you have a test in a week? Those questions and much studying carried on into the afternoon with songs playing in the background–the very CD on which the tour is based. I clicked the album cover as if shaking a magic eight ball, hoping the outlook was good. A text came from that same friend, Hey, let’s do this. Just show up tonight with me and I’ll get you in to volunteer! Can you meet me at 5:30?
Concert. Study. Concert. Study. Yes, definitely, I promptly replied.
Cero. Nada. That’s what the blood pressure cuff read on Tyson Kidd… as well as on every other WWE action figure that a nine year-old boy could gather up in a bear hug. Half-an-hour prior, he had worn that same cuff, sitting, his little legs swinging. The attending physician and his mother, having just won a blood-glucose-finger-prick wrestling match, marveled at how calmly he sat. My stethoscope held within the crook of his arm, I listened for the start and end of a faint murmur. Tick, tick, tick along the pressure gauge which read one-ten over fifty. I asked if he was going to be a doctor someday. He simply grinned from ear to ear.
They’d be a half dozen. One dark chocolate, another peanut butter, a third red velvet, the rest lemon-blueberry–all snapped in plastic, cradled atop both of my arms. I would grip a rainbow of balloons in my right hand, squeezing in my left a raffle prize. Top and center would sit a green T-shirt (a free one at that!) right beside a blue dish of M&Ms, another gift from that evening.
And those cupcakes would have once lined the counters of the attic of the student union on main campus. Like ducks in a row. The smiling kind. They’d witness all sorts of people meeting all different sorts of people. I would make a friend from Nigeria and another from Mexico and another, well, she would be an MPH student. Everyone glancing, contemplating–which flavor would need sampled… again? They’d whisk the cupcakes off to the corner where bowls of M&Ms lined the tables. Across those would sail red crepe streamers under red paper hearts dangling on red strings from the rafters.