Oh No!

This is the best/worst thing that I've ever done! You see, I accidentally ended up with a CrackBerry. This could be very bad. I am an adict. Now all I need to do is get my medical dictionary hooked up to this thing. . .

Where have I been all of my life. . .

Okay, I had to hibernate while I got every application in the mail. Colleges are now starting to take a look at me, and for the first time I'm starting to get really nervous. I've had myself judged before. I am a musician - competition is a way of life. I thrived on competition when playing the cello was a great challenge and a lot of fun. Now I've found what I really have a passion for, and I'm concerned that the stars won't align in my favor. I'm getting unnecessarily negative here. . .

Our house has had a grand total of zero looks. It's a beautiful house, but the market here is awful. Hopefully things will pick up after the holidays. Speaking of which, it's going to be a crazy-fun Hanukkah. We are going to be doing all kinds of things, and I found my husband some great gifts. Now I need to think about the rest of my family. Oy. I know that Purim is supposed to be the season of giving, but it's hard not to get into the spirit living in America.

I went to a wonderful lecture by Deborah Lipstadt yesterday. She was talking about her trial against David Irving. I'm so impressed with her, because she's not out to prove that the Holocaust happened, she's out to prove that people like David Irving are liars and poor scholars. The amount of material she's accumulated on him and his supporters is mind-boggling. He came out looking absolutely ridiculous in the trial. That kind of knowledge, ability, and integrity really impresses me. She's am amazing person, and I encourage you to look up her work at Emory University - it's amazing.

Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go grocery shopping after I take a brief break to look at pictures of obscure breeds of mice. Rodents fascinate me.

Pumpkin Pie

Random musings -

Today I decided to be the learning tool for a resident. I was so brave, especially considering that I get awfully anxious at the gynecologist. I was trying to give my best tough-girl persona. We made small talk. All was well. Then came time to actually put my feet in said stirrups and get into position. My legs were shaking terribly! I was so embarrassed. Everything went fine, and I really was comfortable emotionally and physically, but apparently my nerves showed. Oh well - I hope he learned something, and I hope he didn't feel too bad about it either.

It was doubly beneficial for him, because I have some mystery health problems that I do need to address. I'll spare you the details. I do have a history of plenty of, um. . ., girl problems. That's a technical answer.

I also carved my pumpkin today (see above picture). It was a lot of fun. I drew on it with wipe-off marker first and then used carving tools and a scalpel. The mouth says, "welcome." It's not the clearest picture. My husband did the little pumpkin. Rather cute if I say so myself.

I accidentally ate a donut today. . .

Also, I have been booze free for fours days and counting. I will only have a beverage on Friday evenings. It's easier than I had feared. Now, if only I could commit to getting some sleep!

Who am I and why am I here?

Exam time. I had a biochemistry exam today. The class is interesting, but my professor is just awful. He dropped a lot of acid in the 70's (really, that's true) and he drinks too much. He can't hear well. He doesn't listen to questions before answering them. His test questions are vague, but he expects specific answers. I think I did all right, provided I was able to think like him. However, he had one question about the primary salt bridge in hemoglobin, and that was confusing, because there's a network of salt bridges and plenty of other forces contributing. . .who knows.

Tomorrow I'm carving my huge pumpkin. I'm going to carve, "welcome" into the mouth. I'm going to cut out the bottom, because I figure it's easier to get a candle in there without burning my hand off. I need to get some ideas for a good nose.

So I'm filling out tons of applications. I'm starting to get the impression that I am wholly average - that's kind of scary. What if I don't get in? I'm wicked creative (or so I'm told), but I don't know if that counts for much in medical school. Maybe somebody will see the whole me and decide that I'm in some way special and worthy. A lot of schools ask for a photo. Is it okay to submit my favorite picture of me playing my cello?

Tomorrow I have a pap smear. Yeah. I know you wanted that information. I'm going to a new doctor, and she sounds very good. Please be gentle.

Well, I'm going once again on a few hours of sleep. Though I seem to be able to keep going and going, I think it's time to get ready for bed.

Essays

These are tough. I had no idea how difficult it would be to creatively pour my heart out on paper (screen?). I decided to cut the really gritty stuff out. I'm not sure if that was the right decision. I had some pretty rotten stuff happen to me when I was a kid, and it did really influence me - even in some very good ways - but I think it's too much for a short essay for people who don't know me well. Alas, politics over honesty wins again.

It's really too bad that I haven't cured cancer or ended world hunger. That would have looked good. Maybe I'll do that next week.

I wish I could get these things in the mail sooner! I work entirely too much, but it's necessary. My job is crazy-stressful, but it pays very well. I'm not well suited for it, but it's what they offered at the interview, so I am learning via trial by fire.

This weekend I can have my Sabbath back! We finally have the house up for sale. I am going to read my medical journals with medical dictionary in lap. DC I hope you're out there to answer my questions. . .

I should probably study for that biochemistry test too. I finished the reading this evening, so now I just need to go through some problems. Slacker, I know. Just keep the coffee coming. . .

Jason, the photo is for you. I thought you'd like it.

Looser

I missed out on my library reading today. However, the siding and windows now shine (minus two rooms - I'll do that tomorrow). We have a real desk in the study now, and that's wonderful. The woodwork in the kitchen looks very nice. The piles of laundry are done. The porch furniture is washed. The basement is looking very neat and clean. Life is good.

So here's the application business - I now have 15 out of 15 secondaries to complete. I'm very excited about this and I would be flattered, but now I think I've realized that it's a way to make money rather than actually choosing candidates. My MCAT scores certainly aren't good enough to get into Minnesota or Johns Hopkins (I love you John!). But honestly, if they do call me, I'll answer the phone very calmly and accept the invitation, and then I'll get off of the phone (double check that it is in fact hung up) and then scream like a teenage girl upon seeing Johnny Depp walk through her front door. Or Les Claypool! He's my boyfriend from the band (ex-band) Primus. It's okay, Jason knows that I'm cheating on him with both Les and John (of Johns Hopkins).

The question of the day to ponder - other than the ridiculous question from a certain school which asks, "Briefly describe what a life in discovery means to you?" - should I go to school through the army scholarship? It doesn't sound like a bad gig. I'm afraid of what might be the underlying, hard to find, crap in the fine print, but the program as a whole sounds pretty good. I'd actually rather go with the navy, but I've read that the army gives the applicant more choices. What to do? I'm happy to give my effort, but I'm certainly not willing to give my life over stupid (and I mean stupid) politics. It infuriates me that so many people are being wantonly killed everyday.

Let's discuss education briefly, since I gave that nice intro through the above essay question. What has happened to us? It used to be that only the kids from elite backgrounds (read as "education is prized and sought-after") went to college, and there were few "filler schools" - by that I mean schools that cater to the third-rate student. What about the GI bill during the Second World War? That allowed more blue-collar families to send their kids to college, when before they wouldn't have had the opportunity. Did we then allow the standards to slip? Why do we now focus on learning all the details of many subjects instead of really learning the basics well and then allowing the really great minds to continue? I remember learning all kinds of battles for the various "big wars," but I failed to really take home the - Who was there? Why did it get started? How did it progress? What were the consequences? Why must kids fill so much of their days with school, when if we cut the junk out it would only take a few hours and then time for homework and other interests? Is it so parents can work and there's a free babysitter? It disgusts me. I would have been very sad to have been weeded out long ago - I come from an utterly average family - but what about real effort? I never had to really fight for higher education. In fact, my undergraduate degree was paid for! I'm a very good cellist, but worthy of a full-ride? Doubtful.

Medical school study has taught me a lot, and more than just the subjects I've needed to study. It's taught me that if I want this I'm really going to have to work for it. It's a nice change really. But can I afford to do this? I guess I'll find out. I have no support. I can't call home and say, "Mom, can I have $1000?" Let alone $30,000. It's scary. What I wouldn't have given for home schooling. Home schooling from people who really value knowledge. I would have loved to have learned Latin, and classic and contemporary literature, history, real mathematics and logic. To have an education that would show that I really know something. To be able to discuss things on the level of a great thinker. That's what I lament most. And I look around and listen to the chatter and I hear, "and I'm like, so, whatever. It's like not even funny, and did you hear about ____? I couldn't believe it. Shit, I need to go do my calculus homework. I need to put the formulas for the test in my calculator." And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where we are today. Go rent Idiocracy. . .

Ever been to a library book sale? I love them. If your are exceedingly olfactory, it's pure heaven or hell. They always seem to smell like pickles, urine, and generalized body odor. I'm not sure why book-lovers are often so careless with hygiene, but there seems to be a trend.

I got the 2005 PDR. That was pretty sweet. I also got a book on common surgeries. It's for patients. They are overviews of exactly what happens during the procedures. I'm excited about that. There was also a 1905 book about the state of medicine, and it talks about all kinds of diseases and how to cure them. Fantastic! That kind of history is really fascinating.

I spent my Sabbath reading medical journals in the library with medical dictionary in had, or rather, in lap - it's huge. Can somebody explain eclampsia to me? I didn't fully understand the definition. Is it really like a seizure? Why is it life-threatening? Thanks for educating me.

I'm tired, but I just ate pizza, and I'm too wired to go to sleep. We went to this little hole-in-the wall place and asked the owner to put on whatever cheese he thought would be tasty. We get this wonderful blend or mozzarella, Gorgonzola, blue, Parmesan, and several others. It was perfectly balanced. Yummy.

We spent all of today cleaning and organizing. I've never had closets and filing cabinets so neat and tidy. We officially put our house on the market next Sunday. We have a little more painting to do and some general cleaning. We bought a new computer desk (currently we're using one for kids) and a bureau (my husband has a tiny one, but all of my clothes are in stacks in the closet). So next week, for the first time ever - I will living the life of the ultra-organized, clean girl, I always envied. I always wanted that lovely little house that you walk into and a woman greets you at the door in an apron with cookies and milk. Can you picture her skinny little leg as she bends towards you offering the perfect cookie? Okay, I would hate that, but in some deep dark cavern of my mind I feel that I should be doing those kinds of things. Weightlifting, reading, being a doctor. . .totally not your trophy-wife. Unless you go for the kind of woman that would rather talk about politics and the state of education today than whatever (insert current cool-type movie-star person here) is up to. Or should I say, "Up to what is (insert current cool-type movie-star person here)? That may be a bit extreme.

All right, so once again I'm in the position of saying that I need to study and not yet doing so. I need to break this habit. I think once the house is ready to go, and my applications are rolling along I will be able to focus. I really like biochemistry, I'm just so fried by the end of the day that I tend to make excuses to not study. Okay, that's an excuse for an excuse. I just need some down time to regroup and stay my happy well-adjusted self. The coffee calls my name ever so sweetly. Don't try the Burger King mocha joe! It's 10 times more addicting than crack! It's like a milkshake covered in coffee. . .thankfully they are closed right now. Mmmm, but at 6:00am they are not closed. . .

Speaking of 6:00am, I really need to go to bed. I really need to finish my Johns Hopkins application. I'm carefully crafting every answer so that they can see as much of me as possible in as few words as I am able. I may not be the brightest, but I think I have a lot to offer. Trust me. . .I want to be a doctor. . .

STRESS!

Okay, so I'm a totally green when it comes to medicine. I am but a mere fledgling. So my genius self thought it best to apply to 15 MD schools that I really liked, and then to DO schools soon as time permits. I figured I'd get good and rejected by at least 5 right out of the blocks, but no, I do believe there is a money-factor here, I received 15 secondary application invites! On the one hand, I'm excited, on the other I'm wondering, "How the heck am I going to pay for this?" And come on - I was looking forward to framing my rejection letter from Johns Hopkins. I love John. I'd let him use me. I absolutely love that school. I love what they do there. I love their programs. I love how much thinking and real learning seems to go on there. So alas, I will suck it up and pay John. I feel kind of dirty.

I've also gotten back into weightlifting. I used to lift in high school, then I got awfully (okay really really) skinny, then I got chubby and lazy. So now, I'm trying to bulk up and get my muscle back, and then lose weight if I can. I do have a terrible weakness for the cookie. In fact, that was my first word. I figure it would look really bad to go to interviews looking rather portly. Who trusts a fat doctor? All right, I would, but that's beside the point.

I still want to be a surgeon. Did you know I've never looked up how much different surgeons get paid? I don't want to know. I want to choose based on what I really want to do. However, the pressure of taking care of my parents is a little intimidating. They definitely did not plan their money very well.

Any surgeons out there living near Cleveland? Can I come and watch some stuff? I really miss the OR. I'm a nice young lady, and I am very well behaved (especially when it matters).

The Art of Wooing

I learned today that to be a success as an underdog in a big company is to schmooze. I was so nice to Dr. Whiner and to Dr. "Oh my God, this is a catastrophe," and Dr. "I want micro-molar written with Greek letters" and Dr. "Yeah Man, that's great." How was I able to accomplish such a feet? The MP3 player. What a brilliant and wonderful invention. I could put on my sweet tunes and drown everything out until the next Dr. so and so wanted my undivided attention. I was far more receptive, because I was calm and happy. I should do an info-mercial.

I never did have my beer then. I ran out of time. Maybe tonight after I study. I really need to do that - study that is. Thankfully, my friend super-bright and his friends are getting together for a biochemistry-fest. You see, my teacher tried too many of the chemicals he was working with in the 60's and 70's, and now has limited brains. I asked him a question about pKa values, and he went on some cryptic adventure into never-never land. I am fluent in English, and I had no idea what he was saying. It would be funnier if I didn't have to get a grade in this class. I really like the subject, he's just so useless.

My toe is healing nicely. I once removed a skin tag with sterilized nail trimmers. It never came back and I had no infection from it. I guess I believe in doing things myself. Once I bought a rocky-mountain oyster to dissect, and was totally disappointed to find that the "oyster" was not included. I was so disappointed. However, I did learn how to cut between blood vessels, and predict where the underlying ones were so as not to cause bleeding. I have no idea how useful this might have been, but I really enjoyed it. I also got some chicken's feet and took them apart layer by layer. I had no idea that there were that many ligaments and tendons in a foot.

To stick to the subject of wooing - did you know that rats are absolutely precious? My rat is so adorable. I love him so much. He's like a little bag of love. Okay, he's like a big blob of silly putty, but that's beside the point. I discovered that he needed more protein. His skin has always been a problem - he has an immune deficiency, but the other day I gave him a chicken bone and his skin looked so much better the next day. The little one will be getting more protein from now on.
I played an opera last week in Pennsylvania. That was pretty cool. We took it to a small town where the people just loved it. I don't imagine they got to hear that sort of thing very often. I also found a yummy coffeehouse out there in the middle of nowhere.

All right, I digress again and again. I need to go study. So, how have you been?

Recommendations

Ah yes, that wonderful 15 letter word - recommendations. I'm in search of people who think I'm great, or worthy, or knowledgeable. . . or anything otherwise positive and good-looking to medical schools. It's a very hard decision. Do I go totally conservative and ask professors and doctors? Should I have one of my students write one? Should I have my academic advisor? I sure hope not, she was not too helpful. What about my boss? Definitely not, he doesn't need to know that I plan to leave in a year.

Speaking of medical school - I performed surgery yesterday - on myself. You see, I have this pesky toenail that splits right down the middle, and sticks up, getting caught on absolutely everything. So, I decided it had to go. I pulled it out. The damn thing bled a lot, but I now have no more toenail problem. Truly masochistic, but I knew I could do it, I know how to stop bleeding, and I wanted it gone. Oh yeah, and I'm trying to stave off infection as well. Far more dangerous than declawing myself will be trimming my cat's claws later. He has very little patience for anything, and quite a nasty little temper. This should be interesting.

I need to go work on some secondary applications and my DO schools applications. One of these days I should study for biochemistry. The garage is almost painted, and there's woodwork in the kitchen, and the bathroom now has a floor and a toilet, so all in all, I'm doing pretty well.

Why the beer? I'm thinking of having one before bedtime. :)

I Have Learned my Lesson!

I was going to write about how my husband and I met, but that will have to wait, this was too good not to write about.

Jason and I were going to a rehearsal, and afterward decided to get Chinese food. Okay, that's horribly unkosher, but sometimes one needs broccoli beef. Or so I thought. . .

We get our meals and are sitting there chatting when I look up to see one of the workers cleaning the back wall behind the woks. He's using a mop. I of course am assuming that the red handle means this mop is for the wall only. How woefully wrong I was.

After he finishes with the wall, right over the woks - he did not move them - he starts cleaning the floor! With the same mop! I thought I was going to hurl. Then Jason noticed that he was rinsing his mop out in one of the woks filled with hot, soapy water! I am not kidding.

At least the water was hot and soapy. . .No! This was disgusting. I am not a superstitious person, but if ever I have felt God's finger tapping me on the shoulder reminding me that I shouldn't eat treif, this was it. I was punished. Lesson learned. No more Christmas Chinese food dates. . .

Shabbat Shalom

I'm exhausted, but I wanted to write for a bit. Today was a very stressful day at work. As I've said before, I work for the government doing drug testing and research and development. My job isn't that exciting - I do a huge amount of documentation, but as I say to myself, "If I can be organized enough to do this, I think I can handle anything." It's not a difficult job, just a very stressful one with a lot of responsibility. When mistakes are made people can die. I don't want to be the cause.

However, this is not what I set out to write about. I wanted to write about preparing for the Sabbath. Usually my husband and I are frantically cooking and cleaning and getting ready until the last second - literally. This time he suggested we get everything ready today. Brilliant! Not that we never thought about that, but rather we never tried it.

The best part about it was all the time I spent thinking about how lucky I am to have such a great husband. We are one of those rare couples that really loves, cares about, and respects each other. It is unfortunate that I've never met a couple as happy as we are. Maybe it's because we don't have a TV. I recommend that highly. We actually talk every day.

My husband always treats me like I'm precious, but as most women would agree - when he gets out the vacuum or does the dishes - we (women) are so happy. In 20 minutes we had the house clean and ready to go. Bliss.

The secret to a happy marriage? Choose wisely. I recommend a gentleman scholar. That's what I have. I married the kindest and most intelligent man I could find. Thankfully, he liked me too. How did we meet? That is too good of a story to tack on here. I'll tell that tomorrow. . .

The ice ball is a work of art by Andy Goldsworthy. Check out his work if you've never heard of him. It's really amazing.

But You're not a Princess. . .

I'm Jewish. I dress like a Jew. I talk like a Jew. I do Jewish things. I celebrate the holidays. I go to synagogue. I keep kosher. I'm learning Hebrew. I don't understand Orthodox Jews. . .

My husband and I go out to kosher restaurants occasionally, and we can't help but be both amazed and disgusted by the piles of orthodox Jewish kids and their princess mothers who let them act like little monsters. It doesn't make for a nice, relaxing meal. The fathers, if they're there, are gruff and unhappy.

It's nice that they want to replace 6 million Jews, but we've already done that. Can't we go back to parenting and having sensible, loving, families?

I don't fit in with Jewish women that are my age. I try not to gossip and spread nasty words about others - besides it's strictly forbidden by Jewish law. I am not trivial, and I don't care how much my decrepit handbag cost. I don't get my nails done. I don't wear flashy clothes, but I do have some nice headscarves.

Where I live, the Jewish community is small. I am outnumbered by many Jewish people who don't know much about Judaism. I certainly don't agree with all of Jewish law, writings, and practices, but it's a good start for how to be a worthwhile person. I suppose it's similar to the guy with a huge cross tattoo who goes home and beats his wife. Hypocrites exist everywhere.

What worries me is complacency. We are losing our traditions. One woman was openly hostile when I said I didn't like blow-drying my hair on Sabbath, or the time when I suggested that some cheese being served didn't look like the kinds that contain kosher rennet.

I am far from perfect. I will not leave lights on just because it's considered kindling a fire; I can't justify the energy waste. I have blogged on Saturdays. I ate crab rangoon a few weeks ago. I just hate to see such a beautiful tradition turning into the stereotypes. I mean, we were pretty poor when Shakespeare was writing about our money hungry ways. Somehow that rumor got started and people ran with it. Jews have always gotten a bad rap. How did the blood of Christian children matzo myth ever get started? We aren't helping the situation. My princess compatriots who wear their cutie little diva outfits and carry "Juicy Angel" purses make me want to cry. I am not like you, and I wish you weren't like you either!

Why Would you Want to. . .

I volunteer at an animal shelter for a few reasons, some of which are purely selfish. For one thing, I really care about the animals, and I try to give them my best, but I also understand that not every creature can be saved, and death is okay. I also climbed aboard because I want to be a surgeon, and I need a stronger stomach for nasty odors. This should do the trick nicely. I had no idea something so small and cute could smell so bad. There's the background - here's the story. . .

I went in on Sunday to do my normal rounds with the cats. I was merrily cleaning along, giving lots of love and making the cages as bright and happy a place as possible. I firmly believe a happy cat is a cat with something to cuddle and something with which to play. I get to my next cat - a pretty little petite orange tabby. Her cage says she's on medication, so I know to be gentle and patient. I reach in and lift her down, and realize she's peeing all over me!

My pants and shirt and shoes were all wet. It was already hot and humid there, but this was just gross. I was fine with it, because I know that nothing like that is ever deliberate, but it was a sanitation problem.

Then I notice my little one is bleeding - a lot. I couldn't tell from where, but somewhere in her nether regions. I ran to get the medical person (not a vet, but involved in medicine). In the meantime I went back upstairs to see if I could do anything. I noticed the blood was not very red, but pinkish.

I saw something that looked like raw flesh under her tail, and noticed she was cleaning frantically. Then I saw it - her very tiny fetus - she had miscarried. I should have known right away, since the fluids didn't smell like cat urine. I left her alone for a minute, and then gently picked her up and held her. I put her back in her cleaned cage, and took the kitten away.

It was neither traumatizing nor truly sad, but a moment of time stopping. I was amazed at the tiny little thing, and couldn't help but look at it. I felt sorry for the cat, but she seemed okay, and in some ways relieved, if I may personify this cat. This was my first experience with something like this, and it changed something in me, but I don't know what that is.

AMCAS

The applications are in the mail, along with my transcripts. It was actually a lot of fun filling out the application, because it was not just a boring resume-type of application. I had the chance to really think about me and the things I've done and put that on paper (screen?). I decided to show my personality a bit. When I wrote about my work/activities I added some detail that shows my character, not just what I accomplished. I imagine they get tons of those. . ."I was president of my class and graduated Summa cum Laude. . .," boring! I knitted mittens, wrote poetry, and tried to save the world through research and humanitarian aid.

My essay was also a lot of fun to write. I wrote several drafts. I changed topics. I tried all kinds of things until I found one that really reflected who I am. I condensed it down to one page. I tried to get as much information, as clearly stated as possible, into one very readable, and hopefully enjoyable page. Sweet.

At my work I pose as a chemist. No really, I am a chemist, but I don't tell them I'm going off to medical school in a year. It's so hard to kill myself everyday for the government and not talk about my future goals. Though I do have an awesome job, and it is the most stressful, horrible thing I've ever done in my life, I get to work with some fascinating stuff. . .damn I wish I could talk about it, but it's classified information. No really, it is. I think that's one of the reasons it's interesting - it's super-secret, and that's kind of exhilarating.

On a completely unrelated side note: my cats are precious, and my husband is the best.

The MCAT Bites Back

I often wonder what I did to deserve this. I'm now on strike two for the MCATs, but I think I'm going to go with it. I really don't think I can do any better. This makes me sad, because unless I'm a total fool and have no concept of myself and my abilities, I think I'd be a darn good surgeon. Such is the crisis of being a musician. I learn by watching and listening. I think I'd be great in my residency, but I have to get there first. My ability to abstract material from dense passages is marginal. The funny thing is, I don't think really brilliant people are happy as doctors. Take me! Take me!

So I was thinking, usually the people who post there gilded scores for all to see did a wonderful job. I, on the other hand, am utterly average. It hurts. My ego is wounded. I will never get to go to a really great school. One dream dashed. I know everyone says it doesn't matter, you can still be a doctor, but it still hurts. What do you call the person who finishes lowest in there medical school class? Yeah, I know. I'm not horribly upset, just sad - damn sad.

What about being a DO? I worry about that route, because I want to be a surgeon, not a GP.

Yet again I must wait. Will I get in? Will they take me? I hate feeling like a beggar, because I really feel like I have something to give. I was reading Dr. Atul Gawand's biography, and I can't help but think, "Did he really deserve all of that? Why not share a slice with me?"

So, do you have any great stories? Words of encouragement or consolation? Anybody in medical school score lower than me? I think I'll go pick weeds. . .

Vacation

I will be out of town this weekend, so alas, no witty scads will be written by me, and I will be unable to perch my comments atop of your posts. Have a wonderful weekend.

Surgeon

I want to be a surgeon. I've often wondered what makes a good surgeon? I heard about a hand surgeon that had OCD - not literally - but he would line up his pencils, a certain number, freshly sharpened (in a very specific way), in a certain location on his desk. Supposedly he did this with everything. He liked everything lined up, in a certain way, in a certain location. He did not deviate from his routine.

If this makes for a great surgeon, I'm sunk. Yes, I like things in certain ways, but I've got nothing on him.

What about the swash-buckler? I met him once when I was observing orthopedic surgeons. He swore the whole time and called everyone "Buddy." He pulled, he tugged, he swore some more. He demanded. He swore some more. And when it came time for the X-ray, damn-it if that leg wasn't perfectly straight. He did a little "end-zone" dance, and started closing up. He swore some more. He wondered why a "nice girl" like me would want to do this. He swore a bit more. He said I should just keep on playing my cello, because this job totally sucks.

If this makes for a good surgeon, I'm in trouble. I have quite a temper when pushed to my absolute limits, but never like that. Though I do cuss too much. . .

What about the old man who just smiled his way through life? He was so happy. Everyone is wonderful. The long hours and being on-call are just part of this great life. He had a big family and a stay-at-home wife. The kids were all brilliant and well-adjusted. His entire family, many brothers and sisters, were all physicians. He claimed that he wasn't that smart, but when I asked him about his education he said he finished his chemistry degree after two years having graduated early from high school. . .

I definitely don't smile all of the time. Not everything is perfectly great to me. I hate waiting in long lines. I most certainly am not as smart as he was.

Okay, let's analyze the women in surgery. Oh no, I'm in trouble. I've met several and very few were happy. Most were tired and fed-up. One missed her kid's first day of school, and she was totally bummed. Another was more man than most men I've met - she was rather happy in this profession. I imagine she threw rocks at kittens as a child. . .

I'm definitely a strong woman. I'm not a bleeding heart. I don't cry easily, but sometimes I shed a few tears.

I've heard horror stories about how awful men in surgery are to women who are also going into surgery. Really guys, we don't need much, but sometimes we do need someone to just nod their head, say, "I'm sorry," give us a hug, and send us on our way. I don't like being teased. I guess I'm a pretty serious girl, but I hear that men in surgery tease each other almost constantly. Hmm. . .maybe a back-kick to the groin might help boost my position in the guy-o-sphere.

However, most of my friends are men. Okay, I honestly have only one girl-friend. I don't care about most things women do; this has never earned me many points during a gossip-fest. I prefer working with men - they tend to get the job done and whine very little - my kind of people.

Well, I guess I'll just have to wait and find out. In the meantime, could the MCAT people please hurry-up. You're killing me!

Music School and Sex

People often ask me about the children that I don't have. "So, if you have children, would you have them play an instrument?" Tough question. If we did choose to pullulate, would I want my child to potentially end up in music school? No, and no.

Ever read Mozart in the Jungle? Unfortunately it's very accurate. It's about a rising young musician in music school. She talks about all the drugs, drinking, and strange sexual happenings. Now, to the outsider this sounds like heaven. It's not. You see, eventually we all grew up, and took our baggage with us. Professional musicians never seem to be able to cut the ties though. I can't think of any really world famous performers that don't abuse at least one of the the three biggies.

Thankfully, I managed to stay away from two of the three vices - mostly. It's extremely difficult to be moral in an environment that is supposed to encourage passion. When one is in the situation of proving themselves to be an artist, emotions get very messed-up.

In chemistry, I've been told, once you're in the professional realm, you prove your worth. Nobody cares if you're a hack, you just keep on doing what you're doing and nobody takes you seriously. This is similar to music, and it can be devastating. In chemistry you keep plugging away until you come up with something you can do. In music you either have enough talent and artistry or you don't.

I chose to leave the profession when I realized that the dishonesty and the very unhealthy lifestyle were part of the job description. I could sleep my way to the top. I could drink a lot, sell my soul, and take every gig that came my way. I could get a PhD to prove that I'm worthy of teaching a new batch of eager young students - only to get one or two in my lifetime that would ever "make it." It is a very depressing field. I had to get out.

Part of this emotional immaturity is the nature of art. Musicians are responsible for creating emotions. Their function is to move people. My teacher used to say, "It doesn't matter that your wife just walked-out on you. You still have a concerto to perform." It's so true. Awful things can happen, but the performance goes on. This is absolutely suffocating. The musician learns to not nurture themselves. Eventually this turns into reckless child-like behavior, and the longer one is in the profession, the worse it gets. The reason is this - just like a small child - musicians are crying out for attention, and they get it by doing everything imaginable.

The solution - music schools have a responsibility to turn down the ones who aren't going to make it. However, the programs would be tiny. I don't know how to counteract that. I know they have to make a profit, but they are doing it at a huge cost.

Incompetence in our Midst

This is too good not to talk about. So I went to a job interview this morning. A 20 minute drive during rush hour - job interview. You know how sometimes you just have a sense of impending doom? I did. I walked in the door and saw the place swarming with women over 275 lbs. Now, I have no problem with obese people, I have a problem with a job that seems to foster binge eating. So I am greeted with plenty of tight clothes with tacky cartoon characters on them. . .not a good first impression. The women were all complaining and whining from the time I opened the door. I fill out the application materials first. Why? Protocol. I don't even know what the position is yet. . .

So I finish with my paperwork and my interviewer comes out with more breast than I have ever seen in my life. She, in fact, was larger than life, and not in a healthy way. So she starts by asking me (from a script) why I feel I would be qualified for this job. I answer, " I don't know what the job is yet, we were going to talk about my options today." Well now I've gone and derailed her speech after using too many big words. "Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I'm sooooo sorry. Yeah, um, the positions are ____, ____, and ____." I ask, "Aren't those all the same position at different locations?" "Well, um, yes, but, yeah, that's pretty much it. I don't have any management positions open right now." Okay Anne, breathe, don't say anything you feel like saying. . .Shit too late -

"Look, I've run my own company for a decade now. I started a program similar to yours in the first grade. I am a college graduate with top honors. I gave you my resume ahead of time." She responds, "I'm sooooo sorry, I know, I know. This was such a waste of your time. I should have told you over the phone." Damn it, now I feel bad. "It's okay, you know, why don't you keep my resume on file and call me if a position opens up. I appreciate your time."

Any company that seems to have "emotional eaters" is not making their employees happy - I don't need that. I think I'll go paint my living room now. On a lighter note, my interview yesterday went really well. I hope I get that position. I just had to share that; it was too good.

Oy!

This whole being an adult thing really sucks. I've never been under so much stress in my life. Every day I sink deeper and deeper into debt. Selling a house in this market is nearly impossible, and everyone I owe money to is starting to notice. Also, the job market is not so good which is making me tense as hell. In fact I, Miss Stoic, had a very nice cry fest today.

Serendipity came to my rescue! As I was holding my little pity me party the phone rang. I have an interview tomorrow, and in my inbox another potential offer. Both sound like great jobs too. Perhaps I should have starting crying sooner. . .

Now my usually positive and self-ingratiating self would normally be thrilled, but I am a bit nervous. What if they turn me down? What if they only offer $7.50 an hour? What if they won't work around my class schedule? What if my skirt wrinkles in my non-air conditioned car?!

Every day I sell my soul to Home Depot in a desperate attempt to make our little abode look appealing. The credit card moguls are starting to tap their fingers together saying, "Excellent. . ." in that demonic and utterly terrifying sort of way.

I have only one pair of khakis! My cats need more toys! Damn I wish I came from a wealthy family. Okay, I did, but now my father's business is starting (has been) to take quite a hit in our, "Yeah Wal-Mart!" society.

When I was little I would read books and play with my dolls. I would cook and color and make clubhouses. Gone are those days. I still read, but not nearly as many books. I still cook and I still color (it's true). I write and practice my cello. Hmmm. . .I guess I have it pretty good. Now if only I could just relax. My back hurts.

Intelligence?

What makes someone a genius - my super-smart husband who missed a grand total of 2 on the GRE after completely failing to study or my mother who always seems to know how to handle delicate situations? And please don't feed me Howard Gardner's theories, I really can't stand him.

I wonder about this a lot. How many people out there are just smart enough to realize they are good, but will never be truly great? I often get frustrated with myself in this way, though as I get older I realize that if I can just do one thing really well I will be content. This is not fair - I suppose we are all good at something (don't even start with H. Gardner!), but what really makes a genius?

Newton gave up any hope of a "normal" life searching for scientific truths. However, he also worked nearly constantly. . .does this mean if we all quit blogging and started reading and studying more we could all be great thinkers?

I feel like I could really handle the pressures of being a genius. So why am I not a genius? Okay, okay, considering my family history I guess I'm moving up, but how long is this going to take? Any neurosurgeons out there with some electrodes that might spark my genius centers?

What about someone like Abraham Joshua Heschel? Truly a great man and great thinker, but was he a genius? Who was smarter - Gandhi or Einstein?

What about genetics? Here's where people get pissed off. But we can say that certain breeds of dogs are smarter, and we can breed rats who are smarter or dumber. . .so why doesn't breeding count? We know there are many great male thinkers, but where are the women? Where are all of the black geniuses? Perhaps we have different innate abilities and disabilities (I hate Howard Gardner!).

Is there anyone doing this kind of research? I mean, without the political baggage attached to it. I want to know. I want answers! Oh, and by the way, Mozart definitely doesn't make anyone smarter, but Brahms might. . .

addendum: I absolutely am not racist. In fact, I think I make more effort than your average to understand people and to treat everyone with dignity and respect; I am just curious. Please don't misunderstand my questioning.

My Generation and a Feminist Rant

I got to thinking, dangerous I know, about my generation. We all claim that our baby boomer parents screwed everything up, but are we really doing much better? My generation seems to be the biggest failure in American education. Finally people started to notice that we are in fact rather stupid. Watch Idiocracy, it's absolutely not child-appropriate, but it has some elements that seem plausible, and that worries me.

So now that we're here, what are we going to do? I realized after I graduated from college that I knew very little of any importance. I had horrible grammar skills, virtually no knowledge of history, awful math ability, and I think that was because most people were just as uneducated or worse. Growing up, I didn't know that someday I would be ashamed of my lack of education. I passed the tests and looked great on paper, but I was scholastically challenged.

This has to stop. Why does it seem like nobody cares? When I go to Borders I am depressed to see scads of women sitting around talking about television actors and actresses, and other trite gossip. They talk about politics occasionally, and the words coming out of their mouths are stolen from their husbands and the media. They have no idea what they're talking about, and even worse, they don't care. Men don't do this as much. There is still some competition to know more than the other guy. Women seem to either fall into the "do-all, be-all" category, the super-achievers, or leave their brains behind with the first baby.

Why do I never see a woman reading "Nature" or "Scientific American," both of which are accessible to the general public? The "Women's Magazine" types make flames shoot out of my ears; I get so mad just reading the covers.

I came up with the term for a real woman of valor - feminatrix domestique. I think it's worthwhile to embrace the feminine, but loathsome to assume the damsel mode. Just as I believe men should be allowed to be men, I think allowing men to embrace the feminine sides of themselves is good too. We all need to find a balance, and I think men are doing a better job of that - or perhaps I just choose my friends wisely. . .

I hope I'm wrong. I hope there are plenty of 20-somethings out there that are going to jump all over this post, leaving my faulty ideas in the dust.

A bit of poetry -

If you'd just take my hand
I would feel safer
but leave the other one alone
so I can punch you if
need be

Medicine

I've had a lot of surgeries - 12 to be exact, and I loved my doctors. I'll share a couple of the other side of medicine stories from the patient's point-of-view:

When I was 8 I had my first surgery. I remember reading over the bill when it came to my parent's house and asking what a catheter was. My mother explained it to me and I was horrified that someone, even worse, an unknown someone had touched my 'private parts.' I vowed to never let that happen again. I mean, why did they need to do that? I had used the bathroom before surgery. . . At that age I didn't know why that's done.

When I was 9 I had 9 surgeries. For the second one I decided to 'prevent' being catheterized. My ingenious plan was to wear my underwear under my gown. I asked my parents to leave the room while I changed so I wouldn't be caught. Brilliant! Following surgery I was coming to and I found a neat little specimen bag with my little black underwear in it! I was too groggy to really care, but I told my mother that I needed to go to the bathroom. She told me it was okay, that I could just go. "Mother!" That was when I realized that the nasty little invader was still in me.

I spent a month in the hospital that year, during which I learned all kinds of neat things like intramuscular injections. The bruises took months to go away. I had shattered my femur bone and endured awful muscle contractions for two weeks. Then the morphine became a bit too much of a friend and I was cut off. Tylenol just didn't do it. Finally I started to heal - more surgeries to correct this leg that didn't want to come together. At least the epiphyseal (spelling?) plates (growth plates) were intact. I'm not very tall, and my legs didn't have to grow much, but at least they're the same length.

I'll skip the more private details of my medical history, but I will recount what it was like to almost die. . .twice. The first time the anesthesiologist made a huge boo-boo. I was a stocky kid and must have looked much heavier than I was. I was way over-anesthetized, and some pretty heroic measures were used to 'fix' the problem. I was half-way through a long procedure and started waking up. The surgeon swore, the anesthesiologist swore, and all I remember was hallucinating and seeing some pretty awesome stuff (oxygen deprivation will do that). The second time I was in recovery after a surgery where I lost a lot of blood. I don't remember what happened, but I wish they had just gone ahead with a transfusion. I was weak and dizzy for weeks following that.

One more good story (this one will keep you away from hospitals. . .) I was recovering from another quite invasive surgery. I had lost a lot of blood and was in a lot of pain. I was taken up to my room at about 9:00 PM. The night was so long. I was in so much pain, but not enough to call out. My call-button had fallen onto the floor. At 8:00 AM I was checked on for the first time. The nurses panicked. I guess they thought I'd sue. I was treated like a queen from there on out.

Why in the world, then, would I want to be a surgeon? If anyone knows about what it feels like to be a patient I do. I also love medicine and am endlessly fascinated by the human body's givings and misgivings. Now we await the MCAT scores. . .

A Bit of Poetry for You

Excuse me
how do you get to
the train station?
You know what -
nevermind
I'll just walk until I find it
No really,
I like the rain
We understand each other
I've nowhere to go anyhow
it's kind of nice
I don't have a change of clothes
I'm already soaked
It's pretty funny actually
and besides
I don't have any money
it sure beats the hell out
of where I've been
what I've seen
what I've done
I love the smell of
summer rain on flowers
and fresh-cut grass
Sometimes I wish I was
a tree-
unless you're too tall
lightening and all
but at any rate
I should let you get going
but hey
you really should get out in the rain more
often
What's that?
Sure you can come too

This one I composed in a coffee-shop amidst unhappy and lonely people:

Metallic sculptures
hard lines
consummate angles
Friendly conversation
little glimpses
into unknown lives
beautiful faces
shining eyes
troubled smile lines
big soft chairs to cushion
you
like arms
the ones that don't hold you
Happy music
for sad people

Taking out the toilet. . .

So we're getting ready to sell our house. I never want to be a home owner again! However, I have learned how to remove a toilet among other things. Today I patched holes in walls and woodwork. Tomorrow I rip up the kitchen floor. Oh yeah, and scraping and painting a garage is loads of fun. The flooding of the kitchen a few weeks ago was also a real joy. . .

At least I still have open access to my espresso maker. For that I am truly thankful. Moving the refrigerator also got me to clean it, so I suppose that was a bonus.

What it that?! I think I feel some biceps on me! Perhaps this isn't so bad after all.

Tisha b'av

The road to religion in my life has had many curves. I was raised Catholic by a Neo-Pagan set of hippie parents. However, I was also reared in a large Jewish community, and took care of the Rabbi's children for several years, and I have some Jewish relatives. Once I moved away from home I left religion behind.

My husband and I knew a Jewish woman (secular) who died unexpectedly. I really liked her wit and I loved talking to her. On a whim that evening I started looking for Jewish sources to nurse the wound that had formed in my heart on the day of her passing. I had lost someone who was a real gift, and I barely knew her.

The more I read the more it made sense. The more I read the more it didn't make sense. But one thing impressed me more than anything - Jewish life is based on scholarship and debate. One does religion as a way of letting those deeds fill the heart and mind. This is exactly what I needed.

I talked to my husband about it. I thought he would think I was crazy (crazier?), but instead he started reading and realized that yes, this is a good thing.

This past Tuesday we celebrated the Jewish holiday (if you want to call it that) Tisha b'av. It's a day of mourning commemorating the falling of the two temples, and the expulsion of Jews from Spain among other atrocities. We sat on the floor at the rabbi's house and read the book of Lamentations, or rather, it was chanted. For the next 25 hours we fasted.

Fasting wasn't too hard, but the body does go into a depression, both physically and spiritually. I felt so sad by the end of the day. I wanted to eat and drink, but not as badly as I wanted to understand why people are cruel. Why does anyone need to suffer at another's hand? I do mean people. Why are people terrible to one another? Why are people careless? I don't know. Why didn't I stop and help that man in a wheelchair in Chicago? He was throwing-up. He was all alone. Was he drunk? Did that matter? Why didn't I stop, go back into the restaurant and get him some water and moist paper towels? I don't know, and that burden will be with me for the rest of my life. Every day I try to be a bit kinder. It's not in my nature, but I try. Maybe someday I will be able to say, "This time I was a great help."

Shalom.

Idea Thief

So I was teaching a cello lesson the other day when a student's mother pointed out that Ani DeFranco was coming to town. Now, I am not a man-hater, I am merely sceptical about most people. You see, I think about what I'm doing and how I affect other people. When I have something to throw out I think, "Could I recycle this somehow?" I like to reflect on myself to see how I am doing. I've kept journals since the 4th grade. I think it's important to make good eye-contact with one's self. Back to Ani - The title of my blog comes from one of her CD's where she talks about the little fish swimming around and around. Always they are surprised by the little plastic castles. They are too stupid to realize that they keep swimming around in circles. I decided a long time ago not to swim around in circles, and not to let my life be led by what other people think. I'm odd. It's true.

I play the cello, write poetry, love animals, and shy away from anyone who seems to be shut off from their frontal lobe. Someday I want to be a surgeon. Am I smart enough? I guess we'll find out soon enough. . .

Little Plastic Castles

So I decided to start a blog. Am I interesting? Some may think so. I am a cellist and a medical student wannabe.