I'm training for a marathon. I'm currently running 4 miles with very little walking. This is the fittest I've ever been in my life at age 25. I look back at my former lifestyle of being sedentary, eating fast food, eating at buffets, and not knowing how to cook. I was at my heaviest in Vegas at 180+ lbs. Now I'm in my high 150's/low 160's, and this weight loss was almost unintentional. I mean it was so gradual and more a product of cultural influence than actual conscious diet and exercise. Losing weight has always been on my mind, but I can only recall a handful of times where I was specifically and regularly tracking my weight loss. My weight loss almost just kind of happened. 

I emphasize that it's really cultural influence that caused me to lead a different type of life than I did in Vegas. Now I associate being sedentary and eating fast food often with low socioeconomic status. Knowing how to cook is hip, and knowing how to cook healthy food is even hipper. I aspire to be a "foodie." That's what college-educated people value. And if half of my medical school classmates are running a half-marathon, then I can do it too. 

My life would not have been nearly as good if I stayed in Vegas. And though it's hypothetical, I'm almost positive about it. I'm glad I got out when I did and I'm glad I'm as fit as I am now. It's not too late for me at 25, it's actually quite early compared to a lot of people. 

This is kind of symbolic of what I think of my maturity at age 25. Because I'm so thoughtful and because I'm so educated and because I'm exposed to lots of different people being in medicine, I really try to live my life well. I have met, known, or learned about people who are ignorant, in denial, close-minded, excessively selfish, hateful, angry, etc. And I strive not to be like them. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm still growing. But I feel like I've outgrown some who are older than me. That's very un-Asian of me to think that way of my elders. Goes to show that I'm Asian American and have adopted Western values in some areas of my life. 

There's this homeless man who lives under a bridge 0.5 miles from my home. I know it's 0.5 miles because I measured the distance for my running trail. He's there about half the time. I think it's where he "lives." Or at least it's where he hangs out a lot.

By the look on his face, I'm assuming he's schizophrenic. That might sound prejudice, but schizophrenia is actually characterized by what we call "flat affect." Meaning they are almost expressionless. They don't even look sad. They just look blank. Hollywood chooses not to include this in their movies about schizophrenics though.

I've smiled at him. And he looks at me with a blank stare. If he's not schizophrenic, then his stare could mean he's in shock that someone's acknowledging him. But I don't think so, I think he's schizophrenic.

I sometimes think about how cold it is during winter and how fucking sucky it would be to sleep outside. I've considered giving him blankets we don't use. I think about giving him some of my water I bring on my run. I've thought about talking to him and asking him what his story is. And today, I even thought about how fucking shitty it would be to not have clean underwear. God, the lives of homeless suck.

I think about things like these every time I go on my run, whether or not he's under the bridge. And yet, I truly don't want to do more than just acknowledge him. If I don't at least acknowledge him, then I would really suck as a human being. I mean, I pass by him frequently, and he's a fellow human with almost nothing, I have to at least let him know I see him. But I don't know when I'll be the person who does something for him, something more than just acknowledgement of his existence.

I've heard of a study where subjects' brains were imaged while being shown photos. When a photo of a homeless person came up, the part of the brain that activated was not the social, emotional center. Their brain activated as if viewing an inanimate object. I could see how that's possible. While we know their human, we treat them like a different kind of human.

I understand on an intelligent level that they could not always have been this way. They were "normal" and cared for at one point in their lives. They've just been so, so unfortunate. So why do I continue to keep a barrier between me and them? Maybe because I'm not ready to be generous right now in my life. I rationalize to myself that I'm six-figures in debt, so I'm technically poorer than them. But that's a lie. I live a very comfortable life while in debt. I can't afford to give to all homeless persons I come across, so I don't give to any.

But what about this homeless man who I see regularly? I don't even see him outside a business begging. I see him where he just kills time, I kind of see him in his home. I don't think I can or want to answer that question yet.

I think about what the hell happened with this man's family that he now appears to be alone. Having such a large family, I know that if I ever got kicked in the ass financially, I would never be homeless. I am very grateful.

Ok I need to blog about this so it is written down and hopefully I'll stick to it.

I need to stop talking poorly about David's parents...at least in front of David.

I forget how hurtful it can be even if the things I'm saying are true. They are his parents, and even if he holds the same opinion about them as I do, it is okay for him to speak as such and it is not okay for me to.

It's not that I plan to never speak my opinions of them again. But I feel I'm doing it frequently and achieving no purpose. I'm not even trying to achieve a purpose except to just remind him. And I know I don't really need to remind him. He knows. I think I want to remind him just in case though because after what happened with his mom last time we visited, I want him to fully understand that I'm so turned off by her that we are no way staying with them again. I don't even want to have a discussion about it. So I think I remind him just to make sure we don't have that discussion.

I will try to stop now. He definitely understands. She was ridiculously out of line and must learn that she cannot keep people close to her while behaving that way. I don't think there will be much discussion. Also, this discussion won't even be an issue for an unknown amount of time. I have no idea when I'll be visiting so Cal again.

David has vocalized to me that it sucks to hear all the things I have to say about his mom though he knows they're true. And I completely empathize with him. I recognized awhile ago that even though I held poor opinions of my dad, I very much disliked it when others voiced those same opinions to me. The daughter in me wants to say "hey, that's my dad!" If I still feel that way about my dad who I barely ever talk to or see, then David must feel it a lot stronger about his parents who he's relatively close to. I don't know how they raised such a sweet boy. Oops. Supposed to be stopping. Ok that was it.

This reminds me of a picture from childhood that still causes struggle in me. A few years ago, I was looking at my mom's old photos. There was a picture of me at about 2 years old being held by my dad. I remember thinking, "wow, I was so tiny. My dad used to be able to hold me. And now I'm stronger than him." He looked like he loved me in that picture, like he never wanted to hurt me. I know that's still true. Mainly all the hurt he caused me was because he hurt my mom. He was selfish and ignored the fact that it was hurting his relationship with his daughters. Ugh, I'm so conflicted about him.

Last Day of Outpatient Pediatrics

Today was the end of my 3 short weeks on outpatient pediatrics. I am very grateful to have been assigned to my site.

I initially requested 2 Davis sites and acted very resentfully when I didn't get them. But now I realize I was quite fortunate.

I worked 1-on-1 with a UC Davis solely outpatient pediatrician. I gained a lot from the repetition of working with him. I got to really learn how he provides primary care. He does it compassionately, efficiently, and skillfully. I would love to have him as my future children's pediatrician. It was also great to be with a university pediatrician with a larger proportion of medically complex kids than a community pediatrician.

He was also an excellent and proactive teacher. He asked me what my goals were regularly and provided me with feedback often. He encouraged my practicing physical exam skills. Now that I'm starting to feel comfortable with kids' physical exams, I bet my adult physical exams have improved as well.

I am proud and humbled by my performance on this rotation.

The things I am proud of are: detecting decreased breath sounds on a child's left lung and he was subsequently diagnosed with pneumonia, splinting a broken pinky all by myself, writing "superb" notes, starting to finally know what ear drums look like, and just being great with kids.

I am humbled by my presentation skills. I was not very fluent and confident in my oral presentations. I know I paused a lot because that was my natural response to someone typing what I was saying. But he specifically told me not to pause, and I continued to do it. Don't know why that was so hard for me to get over. Presentations were never my weakness, I feel I'm at least average. Nevertheless, I'm humbled that I didn't do something with ease.

During pediatric nephrology, I was also humbled when I sucked at my first oral presentation of a NICU baby. I agreed and I am proud that I didn't let it get to me. I take constructive criticism better than I give myself credit for. Probably because so far it's been helpful and true. What's funny though is when she actually used the word "sucked" 5 days later, but in the context of my significant improvement. I laughed with her in agreement.

Rotation #2 Primary Care

So my 2nd rotation in 3rd year was Primary Care. After leaving that rotation, I was 80% sure I was going into Primary Care.

I don't have any specific good stories or memories to share about the rotation, but just a general feeling about certain principles and qualities of primary care.

- I like taking care of chronic illnesses. I can understand why some people dread the idea of managing diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol all day long. But that actually appeals to me. One reason is that I'm familiar with managing those conditions through my work at Paul Hom Asian Clinic. Secondly, and also, related to Paul Hom Asian Clinic, I've personally witnessed what happens when you don't have those things managed: end-organ damage. I'd be happy to help in preventing end-organ damage.

- I like continuity of care. I love it when preceptors can tell me their patients' life stories. I'm so impressed with their memory and also just love knowing people's life stories. How lucky am I that I will have a career where I have meaningful relationships with so many people.

- I like being the front line of mental health care. Everyone has stress in their lives. And when that stress becomes pathological, people go to their primary care doctor first. This is especially true for Asians. That was true for my aunt; I don't think she ever trusted the psychiatrists.

- Low back pain sucks. I don't look forward to dealing with people in chronic pain. I don't fully connect with them at this point in my training. I'm struggling having empathy for them.

- I love working with children. They are so cute and make me smile. I smile all day during pediatrics. One big reason I'm not going into pediatrics though is the pay (I know, I'm struggling with my materialism). Another is the first bullet point above.

- Primary care doctors are the most important educators of all doctors because they are the primary educators. And what would I have been if I didn't get into medical school? A teacher!

- Not knowing the answers to everything makes me uncomfortable. But I recognize that I'm only a 3rd year medical student, and I already know A LOT more than when I started. So I will continue to learn A LOT more through residency.

At this moment, I am 90-95% sure I am going into Family Medicine. The more I think about it, the more I can't imagine myself in anything else. I can't believe I'll have my MD in 15 short months. Wow. What a trip.

We did an exercise in Doctoring today where we were given 20 notecards. On each notecard we were asked to write the following: 4 important people in your life, 4 activities you enjoy, 4 beliefs/hopes/aspirations, 4 material objects you value, and 4 pleasures/comforts.

Then we were read a scenario where we were diagnosed with cancer. Give up one card.

It feels shitty physically. Give up one card.

It feels lonely. Give up one card.

I'm angry that this happened to me. Give up one card.

And so on, until you come to terms with death and dying. Give up your last card.

What was very fitting was that my last card, my most important card was "inner peace." It took me a moment to decide whether my inner peace was more important than David. It's a hypothetical scenario where I had to choose. But quite literally, when I take my last breath, I will be leaving David, but I'll be dying with my inner peace.

"Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace." - Dalai Lama

In this case, it should be "do not let things outside your control destroy your inner peace."

I'm so grateful for my health and happiness. One day I won't be so healthy, but I can still be happy. Keep calm and carry on. That's all you can do sometimes.

Last night I went to a spoken word night put on by the Davis High School Black Student Union. I was invited by the Murray-Garcias, some of my favorite people on earth. The event was fun, I am so moved by spoken word. There were some pieces that the high school students wrote themselves and they blew me away. There was one piece entitled "Who Am I" about being black in Davis "surrounded by snow." Black people stick out around here. One can't help but sometimes think "hey, there's a black person in Davis." Which subtly implies that black people aren't included when one thinks about residents of Davis. So I wonder, do they feel included? Do they consider themselves a part of the Davis community? According to the spoken word event last night, they feel different...though they also feel the same underneath it all.

The Murray-Garcias are one of the best parts of going to UC Davis medical school. I remember meeting Dr. Garcia on my interview day and him leaving such a strong memory in my mind. I remembered the gentleness, kindness, and just pure goodness he exuded. And he still does every time I see him. He then impressed David at my White Coat Induction Ceremony with a speech he gave. He just comes off as an awesome person. And now I consider him a mentor and have been to his home several times. He's one of those people that makes life better from just knowing them.

His wife is kick-ass too. Or as she would put it, "gangster." I met her when I did a 4-week program Summer Institute on Race and Health. She's just so...down. She has a passion for racial issues. Meeting her and going through the program was exactly what I needed to reconnect with my undergrad self who was so active in social justice.

I do believe in soulmates. I believe in it because I feel it between David and me. But it's also couples like the Murray-Garcias that make me believe. I love them separately and together.

There are 2 more important things I need to mention about my Ob/Gyn rotation.

The first is the first patient I ever had. Her initials were M.H. and I was on gynecology oncology. She had a big tumor taken out, and I held it in my hands. It was very heavy, several pounds. My attending gynecologist oncologist surgeon was gray-haired and seasoned, and he said it was the most difficult operation he had ever done. It was so difficult because of what we call adhesions, which is basically scar tissue. She had loads of adhesions because she previously had an abdominal surgery many years ago, where a large part of her bowel was removed and she now defecates through a hole in her abdomen into a bag. The surgeon said that his fingernail was bending trying to separate the adhesions. He also accidentally cut one of her ureters (and stitched it back together). After the operation, she kept on spiking fevers and we couldn't figure out why. Finally, we did a CT scan and saw a bowel perforation (and she was eating In N Out!). She was taken back into the OR, and when she came out this time, she was on a mechanical ventilator. I remember cleaning her saliva around the tube and happy to do it. When the ventilator was taken out, she cried to me about all the stress of these complications. When I explained to her about the adhesions, she responded that she knew it would be risky, and that's why she waited so long to get this operation. She was a great first patient to have.

The second thing I must mention is that I attended 2 funerals during Ob/Gyn within a few weeks of each other. They were for both of David's grandmothers. His maternal grandmother died the day before our wedding from an aortic dissection in her early 80's. His paternal grandmother had been dying for nearly 4 months after breaking her hip and ultimately died from pneumonia at age 74. One was sudden and very unexpected while the other had not truly been living for months. One had been excited and eager for my wedding, but wasn't able to attend. While the other attended, but wasn't really there. It was an interesting way to start a marriage, but never felt burdening. If anything, it felt strengthening. We got to say goodbye to both. I also got to say goodbye to my grandma right before medical school. These were my 3rd and 4th funerals in medical school. Sounds excessive when it's put that way - 4 funerals in 2 years of medical school. But I've surprisingly been able to handle it with the help of my wonderful partner. Between both David and me, we have one remaining grandparent - my maternal grandma in Canada. It is a traveling priority for David to meet her. Hopefully this May.

David and I had an argument tonight. Our most intense ever.

There were locked doors, threats to break the door down, and threats to leave the house until morning.

As serious as it sounds, the silly thing is that the door only stayed locked for a few seconds, and he only went so far as to put his jacket on as if he was leaving.

So even though David was moderately angry with me - the angriest he's ever been - we still argued in our usual style. Our style being that I get mad to the point of being sad, and he concedes because he hates to see me sad and because I'm right.

We've only had a handful of arguments in our 4 years together. This is if you define argument as both parties raising their voice in anger. Otherwise, it's usually me getting angry with him. I give myself credit for toning down the bitchiness over the past couple years. I recognize if I'm upset at something trivial, but I struggle with switching off the anger on command. It lingers even after I acknowledge that I shouldn't be upset and I'm acting childish. But I'm getting better...these episodes are significantly less frequent now.

We have a rule in our relationship: we can't go to bed mad at one another. (inspired by the Ne-yo song) It's a great rule. A very smart rule. It defines the baseline of our relationship. At the end of the day, everyday, we will always reconnect. We will always close whatever distance is between us. We do this sooner rather than later if there is a rift between us. I don't think we've had a "heated discussion" for more than a couple hours.

We make up pretty quickly.

Going on 10 months of marriage here, and it hasn't been too difficult. We can easily handle occasional "heated discussions" that only last at most 1-2 hours. We're always back to baseline or we even develop a stronger bond afterwards. It makes me very confident about my decision to have married him.

Considering third year of medical school has been one of the most rewarding, stimulating, and interesting years of my life...and considering it's nearly 5/6 over...my personal documentation of growth during third year has been abysmal. AKA I really need to blog more often.

So for Lent this year, I decided to add something instead of give up something. I'm going to blog everyday for the next 40 days. And my first post will be about my first rotation on third year: Ob/Gyn.

I have to start out with discussing one of the most amazing experiences of my life: delivering my first baby. I hope I'm clear in that I was at the receiving end, not the pusher. People on facebook misunderstood me. Anyway, my first baby belonged to a Spanish-speaking family. I can't remember what country they were from, but it wasn't Mexico. I can't remember her name either, but I remember mom saying the baby looked "china." Haha. I was under the supervision of Dr. Zhang, whose son is in the end of The Avengers, and came up with his lines himself. But I digress. I drove home that day squealing every few minutes from the pure exhilaration. I just helped introduce a new existence into the world. There was a sperm and and egg, and now there was a soul. Wow. For my second delivery, I am not proud of how I ended up delivering a baby. I just walked in. I never met the parents beforehand. My memory is hazy (thus my Lent goal), but they were never told a medical student will be delivering their baby. It just happened. And the parents were still very happy nonetheless. I must note that class played a huge part in these experiences. These were low-income families with health insurance for low-income families. And medical students use it to their advantage. 

Hypocritically, though I do honestly mean it when I say "pure exhilaration," I should also add that it involves fear and complications. Or in my case: fear of complications. That's something I continue to struggle with in general. But it's slowly getting better. 

Also, Ob/Gyn's can be bitches. There must be something about working with all that female energy that just brings out the bitch in some women. Not true for all Ob/Gyn's, but enough of them for me to get a feel for what 4 years of residency with these women would be like. 

Delivering 2 babies was one of the most exciting things I've ever done, but from the looks of most of the attendings' faces, that excitement was gone. 

And for the life of me, I still have trouble feeling for a uterus.