The short 6 weeks we call "summer break" in between our first and second year of medical school was very, very eventful. Eventful is the perfect word. The month of May was one of the saddest of my life: bak long died, David and I put our ferret Jake down, and my big aunt got diagnosed with breast cancer. And though I didn't know her, David's best friend Justin's sister got into a horrible car accident in May that caused her to have to relearn how to do everything.

But the other part of my summer break was incredibly insightful, stimulating, awe-inspiring, maddening, but wonderful - the Summer Institute on Race and Health. Not only did I learn things that I would never learn elsewhere, but I grew as a person and gained some much-needed humility. I also built amazing relationships with amazing people. Dr. Jorge Garcia spoke to us applicants when I interviewed at UC Davis. He left such a mark on me that day that I felt like UC Davis was the perfect school for me (and now I'm here! I'm so fortunate). Then he spoke at our Induction Ceremony, and left a mark on David. And during the Summer Institute, I got to know Dr. Garcia and his wife Dr. Jann Murray-Garcia very well, and they even invited David and me to their home for dinner and a movie. I should have blogged about all the things I learned and my reactions to them. It would have been great to share with you, whoever you are. I think I will try to blog more often now.

And lastly, the last reason my summer was eventful - bak long's funeral. It's been nearly a month, and I will try to remember the best I can. David and I got to eat breakfast with Annie, her dad, her uncle from Macau, our big aunt and big uncle, and my sister Helen. I realize I used the term "got to" like it was a privilege or opportunity, but it really was. I miss my family so much, I miss having people nearby who love me so much. And I especially felt privileged to have shared time with Annie, her dad, and her uncle from Macau when they were so busy. When I got to the funeral home, I learned from Connie some heavy information. While Connie and Tammy were helping clean out Bak Long's clothes from the home (we put all her clothes and belongings in the casket with her), they found a letter. This was surprising because Bak Long didn't leave a letter, though she had before in her previous attempts. But as Tammy read it, she realized it wasn't a letter from Bak Long. It was a letter from Bak Fu (her husband) telling her how much he loves her and how everything is going to be okay - a love letter to his mentally ill wife. That is so hauntingly beautiful - I never think of my uncle as beautiful. When I think about this letter, I instantly cry at the idea of my uncle not giving up and trying so hard to hold on to his wife. It makes me happy that their love was so genuine, but also saddens me. So of course I instantly teared up when Connie told me this. Bak Fu saw me crying and patted me on the shoulder - the closest thing to a hug for Chinese people. I actually like the way we show love. Annie's uncle from Macau, who was Bak Long's only blood relative present (except Annie of course), sobbed throughout the funeral. We all noticed, he sobbed harder than any of us did. I wonder if it's because he barely ever got to see her for 20 years. Connie gave the English eulogy. It was really sad. Connie lived with Bak Long for a year. I gave her a hug afterwards even if it was a little awkward. I got to spend time with my mom one-on-one during the funeral procession, another privilege. I can not imagine losing her, nevertheless when I was 18. After the burial, we ate at the vegetarian restaurant. And the cousins caught up with each other, joked around. We got to spend time with our baby nephew Collin, which I'm pretty sure is rare for most of the cousins. Collin loved David, and even mentioned him afterwards about "nice guy talk about Cars." He's an impressive 2-year-old. When we left the restaurant, David hit the nail on the head when he said, "The reception after the funeral are always good because they make you realize that life can and will go on." I love being close to my cousins.

Annie and Debra came up to visit me during my first week back in school. I had to bring them to one class with me. As fate would have it, it was the one class that hits exactly close to home. It was a case study about bipolar disorder and major depression. I don't know what my aunt's official diagnoses were, but Annie recognized practically all the drugs. She recognized the generic name and even knew some of the associated brand names. She was so matter-of-fact about knowing these drugs and their side effects. She's amazingly strong. I felt a little guilty that I brought her to the one lecture out of all my med school lectures that she would understand the most. But she was fine, and she continues to impress me.

What I have experienced in the past few days has been a true out-of-body experience. When I think back to Wednesday May 11, 2011, the memories I see are like scenes from a movie or TV show or a dream. I see myself experiencing the events of Wednesday, rather than feeling like I experienced it myself. Reality has 2 parts: the part that actually happened and the part where your mind has to accept what actually happened. And if something happens that you can't believe, but know is true, everything feels like a dream.

I visited southern California last week for less than 4 days. With so many people to see, I set aside Wednesday as my day to visit family in the Baldwin Park area. On Wednesday morning, I called my sister Helen, she told me "let me call you back" and I heard a siren go off. I take the phone with me to the shower because I'm positive that the siren I heard meant bad news. I actually thought my uncle that Helen lives with needed an ambulance for some reason. That was the only possibility that occurred to me.

I distinctly remember putting shampoo in my hair when my phone rang. Helen told me our aunt had stabbed herself and she was being taken to the hospital. We call her "Bak Long" in Chinese, which means my dad's older brother's wife. This was definitely sad and traumatic news, but Helen didn't tell me she died, so I thought she was going to be okay. This was at least her third attempt at suicide that I knew of, and she's always been okay. Well, survived is a better word, because my aunt was not okay.

Before I left David's grandma's house in Fountain Valley (where I was staying), I talked to his Aunt Barb and his grandma about having a BBQ the next day. Yes, right after getting news about my aunt stabbing herself, I still thought having a BBQ would be okay. Not out of insensitivity, but out of extreme optimism. I was worried about my aunt for sure, but the only outcome possible to me would be normalcy.

When I arrived at Helen's house, she and my other aunt (big aunt) had not returned yet. I called my mom to tell her of the news, she said "yeah, I know, bak long has died." I responded, "What?! No she hasn't!" And my mom responded, "oh thank god." You don't take a dead person to the hospital, right? When Helen and big aunt returned home, then I got the story:

My uncle (my dad's older brother, Bak Long's husband, we call him "Bak Fu") had heard that Bak Long didn't show up to work that morning. She didn't answer her cell phone or the house phone. Since we've had suicide scares before, Helen and big aunt had a key to their house. So Bak Fu sent them over. The story big aunt described to me was out of a movie, which is why it's so hard to believe. Big aunt found Bak Long passed out on the bed covered in blankets. She shook her with no response. When she uncovered the blankets, that's when she saw the blood and two big knives. She screamed to Helen, "Call 911!" Big aunt said the blood looked dry, at least 2 hours old. Bak long's heart had already stopped when she was found, but the paramedics revived her. So they don't take dead people to the hospital.

With all this additional information, I still believed everything was going to be okay. Bak Long was in the operating room at USC Medical Center, they were going to save her. Bak Fu, my cousin Annie (Bak Long's only daughter and child), my dad, and my aunt Tammy were already at the hospital, there was no need for us to go also. So Helen, big aunt, big uncle, and I went on with our day.

We ran errands that we were planning on running before the morning's incident. We ate lunch. We even laughed. Not only did we laugh, but I found my big aunt more funny and witty than I had ever known her to be. We were listening to Lady Gaga, and my aunt complimented how nice-sounding American music was, while Chinese music sounded so whiny with people singing about "not being able to live without you." She also seriously advised me to advise David that he’s too smart and too pretty to be working on cars, and he should be a phlebotomist. I wondered if my big aunt's humor was freed after my grandma's passing last year. Anyway, I think the four of us all felt the same way - she's going to be fine like all the other times.

Helen and I get text messages that she's finally out of the operating room (after 4 hours) and in the ICU. That's good, right? That means she's alive, right?

I texted Annie to see how she was doing. She texted back "I'm mourning, but idk." Mourning? Why? "At least your mom's still here," I text back. "They say she's not going to make it," she texts back.

It was probably less than 30 minutes after that text that we got the news she was gone. We were expecting it for 30 minutes, but only 30 minutes. This isn't like when my grandma passed. I had weeks to prepare for that phone call.

I got to see everyone that was at the hospital for dinner. We ate at a vegetarian restaurant, because it's custom to eat only vegetarian until after the funeral. Annie's eyes were red and she asked me to go with her to the bathroom. I later found out that she's scared of her mom's ghost. Connie and I bickered at dinner. I can't blame that all on her, but I'm disappointed in both of us. I told her that I want to go into Psychiatry, and she said, "Nooooo," and I said, "don't tell me what to do." "I'm not telling you what to do," she responded very defensively. Connie knows me well on some levels, but I don't think she understands my values. So I was upset at her presumptions.

Anyway, we went to the Taoist church after dinner where we met with Annie's best friend Debra. They greeted each other with a long hug, and I cried just watching. We chanted and prayed for Bak Long. Then the church members and us sat around to discuss the funeral arrangements. They spoke in Mandarin so I didn’t understand. But when my uncle was describing the day’s events, I didn’t have to understand Mandarin to understand what he was saying.
After we left the church, Annie, Debra, and I went to go talk. Just the three of us in Debra’s car. I had my tissues on hand. Annie opened up about everything she was thinking and feeling. One of the most difficult things from this whole experience was hearing Annie describe what she’ll miss about her mom: she won’t be there to cook soup for me when I’m sick, she won’t join me in bed in the morning and just hold me, she won’t tell me to wear a sweater, she won’t fold my blankets. It was perfect that the three of us were there together. Annie’s my favorite cousin and I’m hers. Debra is her best friend, whom I made my honorary cousin. I wasn’t there for my family when my grandma passed and I was okay with that. But I had to be there for Annie. The timing of my visit worked out perfectly. It kind of feels wrong to use the word “perfect” in this situation, but I believe I was meant to be there for Annie.
The other most difficult thing from this experience was waking up the next morning. As soon as I opened my eyes, I awoke to the reality that my aunt was gone and that she died so traumatically. I started sobbing the moment I woke up. David and I then went for a walk, and it helped stop the tears.
Our plans were to leave for Davis that day (Thursday). But not before seeing Annie one more time, and not before helping my family somehow in some way. And we did help out in a small, but meaningful way – we helped move the mattress on which my aunt had died out of the house. As we walked to the bedroom, I asked David if he was ready. He said no. There was some blood on the floor, and the mattress had a circle of dried blood. It was like a scene from a movie, and that’s what it felt like. A movie. Yes, there was a dark red circle on the mattress, but my reality didn’t believe that it was my aunt’s. It was a king-size mattress and as we maneuvered it out of the house, the mattress would fold. And that’s when we saw it. I remember staring at it in shock. The blood was bright red oozing out of the mattress. As fresh as the blood I see when I draw blood on patients. It makes sense considering she lost liters of blood and it had only been a day, but it’s a sight I never thought I would ever have to see. No one does.
Bak Fu also helped us move the mattress. He’s a very serious man, who does what needs to get done. Annie told me he cried at the hospital when he kissed Bak Long’s cheek and said goodbye. I’ve never seen him cry. I wasn’t there to see it, but the image of the strongest man I know crying as he kisses my unconscious Bak Long’s cheek still instantly brings a lump to my throat.
Bak Long’s purse and sweater were sitting on the couch in the house. Like she was home. I remember staring at it too, struggling to believe that she will never use her purse again.
This tragedy was not just any death. She stabbed herself in the chest, and the knife went through to her back. She leaves behind my favorite cousin, who is about to graduate high school. She was one of the sweetest women in my life. She was so loving and nurturing and caring. But she was sick and suffering. She hadn’t been herself in the past year, the mental illness consumed her. So I am terribly sad and will miss her so much. But I’m not asking “why?” There really are no questions to ask, we can only move forward.

To quote the following overused quote:
Be the change you wish to see in the world. – Gandhi

So simple, it’s almost like, duh?

Of course it’s not so simple. We’re still human and we still need to look out for ourselves. And when it comes to doing the right thing, the situation often requires sacrifice – either a financial sacrifice, a sacrifice of one’s time, or making yourself vulnerable to attack and criticism.

I read the above quote many years ago, and it’s not a quote I can ever fully forget, but sometimes do. However, when I do act according to the quote, boy am I very proud of myself. There’s a delicate distinction between pride and arrogance, but I’m proud of my values, and especially proud when my values are manifested in action.

This is not a blog to toot my own horn. But I love to record strange coincidences in my life, so here it goes.

Two nights ago, a high school senior knocked on my apartment door selling subscriptions to The Sacramento Bee. If he sold a certain number of subscriptions, he would be entered into a drawing for a $1000 scholarship for college. Being my curious and slightly cautious self, I questioned his educational aspirations. He wants to be a doctor. And hey, I’m a medical student. So now I will have unwanted newspapers arriving at my door for the next 5 weeks. He’s a Latino student from a low-income family with ambition for higher education.
- Do I want to see underrepresented minorities in higher education? Yes.
- Will I cough up the money to make it happen? I did.

Most people (hopefully) would answer yes to the first question, but I don’t know how many would answer positively to the second question. It’s not so much the issue of money, because I can definitely understand people wanting to save in this economy. It’s more the issue that it’s not enough to just want something. I can’t just want social justice, I need to make it happen the best I can.

So after that incident, I was very cognizant about the thought process I went through when I decided to contribute to his education though I’m living off loans. I know why I spent the money, and it wasn’t just out of simple kindness or pity or an inability to say no. It was about living by my values, even if that meant some sacrifice.

Then yesterday, during our “Conversation Café” in Culture in Medicine, one of the questions posed for conversation was: “How will you be, as Gandhi says, the change you wish to see in the world?” And I already knew the answer, I’m already living the answer.

I’m nowhere near perfect, and sacrifice isn’t easy for me. But I’m proud that I’m aware at least. And that I care to be aware.

Besides dishing out money to good causes, I’m going to work on speaking up when I see wrong. I’m pretty scared of confrontation, but I’ve grown a lot since starting medical school. I’m going to be a doctor, I’m going to be confronted. So my skin is thickening slowly, but surely. So if there’s a homophobic or racist or any discriminatory, dehumanizing joke or comment or situation, let’s speak up. Whether or not you change someone’s mind, at least you were heard.

I recently read an article where Rudy Giuliani said that America has the best healthcare system in the world.

A very vindictive part of me kind of wishes he was uninsured, gets diagnosed with rectal cancer, gets charged $23,000 for the CT scan used to diagnose it, and that be the end of his options.

Of course I don’t really want that, but I want him to know how it feels. Because I saw a patient last Saturday at clinic that is going through just that. Here is how I would write the History of Present Illness:

A 55-year-old Mien man presents to clinic today with a diagnosis of rectal cancer. He wants to inquire about medications to treat his cancer. The patient is uninsured, but is paying out-of-pocket to the UC Davis Medical Center for the CT Scan used to diagnose his cancer. He has had rectal bleeding since July 2009, but delayed seeking medical treatment because of his insurance status. He was finally diagnosed in December 2010 when he was admitted to the UC Davis Emergency Department. The patient complains of rectal bleeding every time he has a bowel movement (3-5 times/day) and even when he isn’t having a bowel movement. The patient used to be a farmer, but is currently unemployed because his condition prevents him from working.

This man has had cancer for 19 months at least without any treatment. This is the saddest case I have seen yet in clinic. What can a dinky little student-run clinic do for him? (I love our clinic, but it is dinky). Not much. We did a physical exam, and I saw the bleeding for myself. It seriously looked like he was on his period, but out of his rectum. We drew blood to test if the cancer has metastasized to his liver, and to test other markers I don’t really understand.

But besides the lab tests, the most important thing we could do was to be his advocate. So our medical director wrote a letter advocating that he should receive Medicare despite his age. As of right now, I’m hopeful that he will qualify for Medicare. Thus, I’m hopeful about his prognosis. He is supposed to return to clinic this Saturday, and I really hope he returns with good news. Because right now, I’m very optimistic. But if Medicare rejects him…I don’t know how I will handle it.

So this is my story as a medical student. This is my story about why our nation’s healthcare system is so fucked up. I don’t have a nation-wide solution to the problem. But at least for California, WE NEED SINGLE PAYER!!!!!!!!

A miracle happened today. I almost never use the word "miracle." But there are no other words to describe it...it was miraculous.

I opened my patio's glass sliding door to air out the apartment. 15 minutes or so later when I go to close it, the screen door is open as well. I ask David, "why is the screen door open?" David replies, "Oh shit!" That's when I realized that our ferret Jake had opened it.

David and I both stared at the bottom of our patio fence. We stared at the spaces he could have possibly crawled under. Then we searched for him outside. It's dark and cold, and I don't hear any rustling in the bushes. David and I separate to different sides of the apartment complex. I had a gut feeling he went to one particular side, so I followed my gut, but didn't follow it far enough. I stopped short of the sidewalk and street...too short. I think I stopped because I already sort of gave up - it had only been a few minutes. It wasn't the time I spent searching that made me give up, it was the darkness and the abundance of bushes surrounding me. The odds were against us and I accepted it so easily.

So I turned back only to hear David, "I found him!" I ran to them, so happy and so relieved. A neighbor had spotted him on the sidewalk and saw that he had walked into the street. A girl was parking her car and Jake was under it. He could have been ran over, but he wasn't. He could have been lost forever, but he's not. David found him on the street that I was heading towards, but stopped short.

It was a miracle tonight that we found him. And though the ending is happy, it wasn't my courage and conviction that saved him. If I had walked farther, searched harder, David and I would have found him together. I'm just disappointed in myself that I failed to try. And I'm worried that this is a personality trait of mine that is not conducive to a career in medicine. Well, something I got to work on.

I'm not an expert on racism so I find myself struggling to articulate the significance of racism, and sometimes even the existence of it. So I won't try to here. I'm just going to write about how I feel about my classmates' resistance to the required reading Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Dr. Beverly Tatum.

She defines racism as a systemic advantage based on race. So through her definition, all White people are racist because they benefit from this systemic advantage. Though I agree that White people in America are born into privilege because of their race, I don't agree that makes them racist.

Even though I disagree with her definition of racism, I still embraced the book and all its wisdom and insight. My White classmates, however, closed their minds after reading that definition. They felt they were being attacked. Rightly so, I wouldn't want to be called racist just because I'm White. But we all have racism in us, why deny it?

It's not all my White classmates that "don't get it" (a general phrase I use for social consciousness). But the ones who don't get it...I immediately feel a disconnect with them. They're offended that they're classmates of color barely remember any White friends from their undergrad. We weren't avoiding White people, but White people were irrelevant to the development of our racial identity. We sought out people of color to figure ourselves out, not to exclude White people. Undergrad was a big, big place and you could only get close to so many people. So the people I got close to were people of color. That was a specific phase in my life.

Now I'm in medical school, and in a class of 93 students, I'm going to remember a lot more people. It's a different phase in my life where I feel comfortable forming meaningful relationships with anyone in my class. Well, not so much after the reactions to this book.

One argument of a White classmate is that life is hard for everyone. Do you see any scholarships for Caucasians? Do you see any clubs for Caucasians? Again, I'm not an expert so it was difficult for me to counter his argument in words. But I felt the error in his argument, even though I couldn't articulate it. Now that I've let it stew in my mind, I would argue that even though life is hard for everyone, and each individual faces unique challenges, racism is pervasive and harmful to groups of people. So the scholarships and clubs are to help the groups of people who have historically been treated unfairly.

I completely respect every medical student's struggle to get into medical school. And I even admit that it is very possible/likely that the road to medical school for some of my White classmates was more difficult than my own. But racism, to me, is not about the individual. Of course, individuals suffer or gain from racism. But racism is about society, and how society views race. Our society is racist. We judge books by their cover, just not as verbally as we used to. But those judgments we make in our mind are influenced by everything we grew up with. We weren't born to prejudge, but we were sure taught to.

I feel a bit weak-minded for not liking those White classmates who so adamantly opposed the book. They are nice people. But they are nice people who aren't aware of their privilege of being White. I acknowledge that they worked hard to get here. They didn't get here simply because they were born White. However, I want them to acknowledge that people of color have extra obstacles to overcome simply because of their race. Since they don't acknowledge that, it's hard for me to connect with them. They are from a different world than me.

I can't remember the last time I spent a birthday without friends. I think it might have been my 18th birthday. Anyway, I spent my 23rd birthday without my friends. Just David. But the time I spent with David was so wonderful, I didn't notice the lack of friends. It's not that I don't miss them, nor is it that I would rather spend the day with only David. It's just that, since moving here, I've gotten used to not having my friends around. So spending my birthday without them was like any day in the past 3.5 months. I used to see Lilian and Tiffany every day, and I had to quickly adjust to a life without them in medical school. It was difficult at first. I did feel lonely at school with a class of 93 students, but no one to really call my friend. Like all good things, it took time. I have now found a handful of people I really click with and can share things with. I actually like that it's only a handful, because I'm a firm believer in quality over quantity when it comes to friendships. I can definitely call them my friends, but they're not my best friends.

Best friends are people you can text random things to for no reason. Best friends know your past and understand where you come from. Best friends stay your best friends no matter where life takes either of you. Just friends don't meet any of that criteria. Not in my life anyway.

I actually didn't even mean to delve into this right now! I meant to blog about my birthday with David. I had an epiphany this past week. It really was a lightbulb moment. Where I suddenly confirmed, "Yes, I want to marry him." He was resting his head on my abdomen and talking to our unborn children. He said, "Hi, it's daddy."

Provided that David and I stay the people we are, I predict that our marriage would be a happy one. One with communication, respect, appreciation, fun, support, and love of course. I've had this prediction for a long time now, but was always a tad hesitant to confirm with myself that I want to marry him. There were several reasons for hesitation, some of which I don't even know. But the idea of a legal commitment intimidated me at the age of 22. And isn't it funny that soon after turning 23, I'm not intimidated anymore?

So even without my friends, my birthday was so wonderful because I spent it with him. He treats me well everyday. But he made it a point to make me feel extra-happy and extra-special on my day.

Disclaimer: I am not engaged. I want to marry him in my heart, but we cannot afford a ring yet.

I just realized blogger doesn't let me post pictures!!!!!! What kind of blasphemy is this?!?!!?!

An interesting comment: Abortion has been separated from medicine.

Society doesn't consider abortion as a part of health care. But it's a very medical procedure and often medically necessary.

Prior to medical school, I was pro-choice, but not very active about it. I have been very, very fortunate to have never gotten pregnant accidentally. So abortion never personally affected me. I just knew that if I were to get pregnant, I want the choice to have an abortion.

But now that I'm in medical school, I'm faced with more responsibility about my stance of pro-choice. As a physician, I will be an advocate for my patients who want an abortion even if I'm not the one performing it.

A part of me understands why people are pro-life. Besides religious reasons, it's difficult to empathize or sympathize with the stereotypical teenage girl who had unprotected sex. I can't empathize with them because I've never gotten pregnant accidentally. I can't sympathize with them because I use birth control. But this is very close-minded. I've just been lucky to not have gotten pregnant. I've had condoms break during intercourse or get stuck inside me. Thank you Planned Parenthood for free Plan B.

I feel that pro-life supporters don't even attempt to understand what a woman is going through when she makes the decision to have an abortion. Ok, that's harsh. Maybe they attempt to, but their closed-mindedness keeps them from being compassionate. It's so easy to scream from the picket lines. Screaming to bring another life into this world. But who is responsible for that life? They're surely not. They're not going to cough up the money to raise that life, they're not going to babysit that life, and most of them will not adopt that life. They just scream from the picket lines.

Sex is great. I believe in sex. I believe in sex for PLEASURE. If you're only having sex to reproduce, then I feel extremely sorry for you.

Accidents happen. But I believe in motherhood by choice, not chance. When a woman is able to CHOOSE whether or not to have children, it's beneficial for EVERYONE.

How has medical school been going for me? It's been over 3 months since I started, and now I'm only a month away from finals.

Academically, it's been going pretty well. I probably have a lower MCAT score, a lower undergrad GPA, and less experience overall than a lot (if not most) of my classmates. But it doesn't matter here. We're all starting over again from scratch. My MCAT score and GPA doesn't matter anymore, and it won't matter again for the rest of my life. So I've been performing just as well as, and sometimes better than, the rest of my classmates. I feel pretty confident about my academic performance for the next 2 years. It takes time and effort, but it's doable.

My stress level has generally been pretty low with the exception of a couple breakdowns. I'm just not the type of person to be chronically stressed. Medical school is demanding, but if I keep up with the demand, there's no need for stress. October is infamously known as "Red October" because we have a Biochemistry final, an Anatomy Practical, and 2 "quizzes." I put quizzes in quotation marks because they are 30-50 questions in length. So after the Biochemistry final, I had one week to study 3 weeks worth of material for the next quiz. That week was the most stressed I've been in medical school, and it's because I didn't keep up with the material. It's not like I slacked, it's because I was studying for the other exams preceding that quiz. I took that quiz last week and did really well, and now I can't even remember the actual stress I felt. I remember the fact that I was stressed, but I don't really remember how it felt to be stressed.

Clinically, I've gained some strides. I've successfully drawn blood 4 times now and have been unsuccessful once. That unsuccessful blood draw did take a minor toll on me, but a successful PAP Smear later that day helped me get over it. I've also done a digital rectal exam and breast exam. Since academics aren't what worries me, it's the clinical stuff. Because this is the stuff that really matters. I've decided to apply to become a co-director at Paul Hom Asian Clinic, and I'm excited to challenge myself and to learn so much. But I'm a little nervous about the responsibility. I'm proud that I'm not letting my nerves hold me back. I can't be afraid anymore. I'm going to be a fucking doctor.

There's not much else to say, even though there's so much I could write about. I'll try to update more often with various anecdotes and experiences in medical school. My life is really exciting, and I'm in a place in my life where I feel so blessed and appreciative of everything. I'm working towards a definite goal and it feels great.

I wanted to sleepover at my cousin’s house. If I could avoid sleeping at my grandma’s house, I wanted to. I wanted to avoid the space I remember her most. And I wanted to avoid the emptiness she left behind. But my mom told me that she didn’t want to bother my sick aunt, so we’re sleeping at grandma’s. I didn’t resist it, I accepted it maturely. David lived in his grandpa’s former room and his house for years, I knew it would be doable.

And it was. Just being in the house I know so well and with family I know so well but haven’t seen since her passing was so…nice. I forgot how much I enjoyed just being in my family’s presence, just hanging out. I haven’t enjoyed that in awhile. Her hospital bed was still in her and Helen’s bedroom. But the empty bed didn’t make me sad; I felt okay. In the living room, they had her picture in a frame with incense. Boy, did reality sink in for me. That picture was all that I had left to always remember her face. That picture will be with us for the rest of our lives, but grandma won’t be anymore. She’s an ancestor now, and we’re praying to her now.
The next morning, the first day of the funeral, David and I woke up to loud conversations in the living room, which sounded to David like arguing. But it was definitely not arguing, it’s just the way my family converses. That morning was pretty stressful: running errands in a time crunch, having to take my dad to his mistress’ house because he forgot his fucking shoes, finding out my dad physically threatened my mom because she wanted to cut him off of car insurance. David could tell you I went crazy, probably crazier than he’s ever seen me. But whatever, it was finally time for the funeral and everyone just shut up.

Even considering the circumstances, it was still so nice spending time with family. I only see certain cousins a few times a year and I had fun hanging out with them for 2 days. Even at a funeral, several of them congratulated me about my acceptance to medical school.
Overall, the funeral consisted of a Taoist ceremony and a Buddhist ceremony. The Taoist ceremony was free and over a dozen members of the Lord of the Universe Church came to participate. According to my dad, there would have been twice as much if my youngest uncle didn’t have beef with the church. The Buddhist ceremony cost $1200 and we paid for police escort to Rose Hills. My family dropped at least $12,000 on the whole affair. Nothing but the best for her.
Unfortunately, it’s October 4, 2010 as I write this and her funeral was on August 13th and 14th. I will try to remember as best I can.

Both the Taoist and Buddhist chanting lasted extensive amounts of time. But the Buddhist chanting consisted of the immediate family kneeling during most of it. It was strenuous; there was one section of chanting that lasted at least 30 minutes straight. Most of us ended up off our knees after a few minutes. But my oldest uncle (bak fu), stayed erect on his knees the whole time. Then the monks led us in a walk around the funeral hall where we walked pass the open casket for the first time. That was tough; many of the cousins cried, especially Helen. We walked around it a second time right after, and it was significantly less difficult. I think they do twice on purpose, to help you come to terms. Though the chanting was exhaustive, the tone, the rhythm, the continuity was entrancing. The deep tones penetrated me and it allowed for self-reflection, to be alone with my thoughts and memories of her.

It was a 2-day funeral, so before we left on the first day, the funeral director had us tell her, “grandma, we’re leaving early now, but we’ll be back early tomorrow morning to see you.”
On the second day, we burnt the paper. Even though in college I was taught that Buddhism believed in reincarnation, my family obviously doesn’t. I guess you can call it “heaven.” But we burnt lots of paper money, I’d say at least $1000. And the following paper products: 2-story house complete with fridge, fan, chairs and balcony, Mercedes with a chauffer (perfect because my grandma never drove), 2 servants, gold and silver mountains (so she can have a view of everything), a bridge (so she can go anywhere), and lastly a very beautifully decorated box that contained whatever our imagine wanted to (e.g., credit cards).

Stacy gave a wonderful speech, which was the only portion of the funeral I understood. Everything was in Mandarin of course. She talked about how the one thing grandma wished was to be able to give money to all her grandchildren. That made me sob.

The funeral procession was cool, worth the $400 or so. Our heads were lowered as the casket went into the ground. Then we all put flowers over her casket. That’s when I saw Raymond cry for the first time. And Pam was so compassionate to everyone. I had to jet out of there with the rest of the elders because big aunt freaked out and thought I needed to drive her when I really didn’t. So I missed what happened next at Rose Hills, but I got to go the temple with the elders where my grandma’s name will be posted forever.

Overall, it was a wonderful experience. It was interesting and elaborate. As superficial as it sounds, I’m happy that so much money was spent on her. Not just by my family, but friends bought huge flower displays that cost at least $100-200. I loved feeling close to Buddhism again, and of course just bonding with family. As little as I see them or talk to them, family bonds are amazing. I thought the timing of everything would make grieving hard as I started medical school and anatomy lab. But I think the timing was perfect for me. It was easier for me that she passed away after I left for medical school, it was easier for me to deal with death in general with my grandma’s passing and anatomy lab. I really have this new understanding and acceptance of death. Death makes life worth living.