Yesterday, I arrived at a doctor’s office all spic and span in my little white coat, ready to play doctor. I was to be thrusted into the role of neophyte trainee for the next eight hours but to my surprise, I enjoyed the experience immensely. We saw a total of 7 or 8 women that day, each coming in with their unique problems and requests, but in my romanticized view perhaps, all were seeking a momentary solace in the doctor’s office from the pain and stresses of their everyday lives.
If I had to pinpoint what was so fun exactly about the experience, it is hard to pinpoint. I appreciated the trust and confidentiality that these women automatically offer up and the momentary glimpse into each of their lives. The doctor I shadowed is whip-smark, fast-talking and compassionate female practitioner. She reminds me of an old time cowboy, but instead of sharpshooting from her hips with smoking pistols, she dashes razor sharp beams from her eyes as she appraises you while her mouth goes off at 90 miles per minute, barely keeping up I’m sure with the rate of her neurons firing off the thoughts. To say I’m impressed by her intelligence would be an understatement. However I’m more impressed with the degree and dedication of her personal philosophy to the betterment of women, broadly and on an individual level.
She also put me to work too. I had to take histories of patients and then write up summaries. On occasion, I took blood pressure and looked up people’s noses. I made some glaring mistakes too. For instance, one patient who had just been in an auto accident comes in the second day and I failed to ask her one of the most basic questions anyone should ask of an automobile accident. Can anyone guess? It’s “Were you wearing a seatbelt?” I am definitely not a detail-oriented person, but hey, I’m working on it!
So at the end of the day, and it was a long one too, I walked away tired but happy, satisfied that I put in a good day’s work and that I was too busy the entire time to focus on my own pitiful problems or age old anxieties. But wait! My day was not even over. God had more pleasantries in store for me
In the evening, I went to this church in Philadelphia, dedicated to advancing the causes for the homeless, among its many philanthropic arms. I was to sit in on a focus group composed mainly of homeless men and discuss their opinions on health and what healthcare means to them individually. My word, I was in for a real treat. As fast as I could write (my job was to observe and record the contents of the focus group), I was dashing off 100 words/min as these people very passionately articulated their feelings about health and the state of healthcare in America today. One woman, the only one in the group, was particularly well spoken and commanded a real presence. She had a lot of really vindictive things to say about doctors. It was truly eye-opening. I felt that as a doctor in training, I am so fortunate to be hearing all this now, so that I can learn how to become a better physician when I do start practicing. The lady railed at everything from the physician not truly caring, the physician only interested in forming a nice, easily understandable picture in his/her mind, and the physician not respecting or seeing the patient as a true human being. She said doctors don’t look her in the eye, they can’t seem to even bring themselves to touch them on a human to human level, to showing caring in an unspoken way and to reserve their judgements, biases, self-perceived level of superiority and education. Such a disgrace! I can easily see many doctors behaving exactly as she had described.
Of course there are flip sides to the coin too. Many doctors are overworked and fatigued, whatever compassion they had as they entered medical school, bright eyed in that squirrelly manner has long since dimmed as they encounter the system for what it is. And a lot of physicians probably get disheartened once they realize how little of a difference they can truly make in a person’s health, when you take into account the whole person perspective, healthcare being so much more than just popping in a pill and downing it with water, in a timely manner.
So well, obviously this is not exactly going to be easy to sum up in a few short sentences. The issues brought up were complex and at times heart breaking. But after it was over, I reflected on how privileged I was, to be given a glimpse, (yet again), an intimate glimpse, in fact, to these people’s minds, thoughts, lives and personal, deeply personal stories. I’ve been reflecting for some time now on how everything is interconnected and everyone is connected to everyone else, but I felt that yesterday, by some divine force or grace, I was shown in a very powerful and real way how that is true. We are indeed all together in this. So to borrow a rather cheesy line from the show “Lost”, we either “live together, or we die alone.” And that can be interpreted on many many levels.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Dreaming of Bale
Had a fantastic dream last night, not so much in the content, but in the feelings that it aroused in me. I dreamt that I was Madonna’s adopted daughter, so I had money to spare. But more importantly, I was married to Christian Bale! And Christian Bale was talking to me about something, related to being careful, and he had this awful awful haircut with long jagged bangs. I looked at him as he was nagging me, and I affectionately swept his bangs to the side of his face to give him a more clean cut look. He smiles at me and I swooned terribly. I think that was the euphoric moment when I fell I love with him, in this obsessive way and was truly delighted to know that he was mine.
As for me, I was this awfully prissy girl, rich, spoiled, I had a ton of shoes and I didn’t seem to have a good handle on my life. Then Bale went missing, or he left, I wasn’t clear what happened, suffice to say, he disappeared from my line of sight. Then I had this project of looking through his old movies for “clues” and even the prospect of staring at him for hours on the screen delighted me and I was eager to begin.
Now, by this time, I had already awoken several times. But the dream had such a fascinating allure to me, that I kept insistently going back to sleep and as well as going back to the dream. So this was one of those times when I had fallen back into the dream, there was a bit of a disconnect, but the sequence went as follows.
I was trying to navigate my way around a building, with lots of tall steps and security. Doors were locked but I had the keys. I was at this one door and I knew this other man was coming up behind me and he was vaguely threatening. Perhaps I just didn’t want to talk to him. I fumbled with the keys, finally putting the key in the lock and opened the door. But I had to climb really high to get through the door and that delayed me further. I knew the man was closing in on me and truly, I didn’t know what threat he represented. But somehow I made it through the door and had it shut behind me. And I was relieved.
Next I encountered these ridiculous shoes, two of whom were falling apart, and I had to try a third one. It was plastic, with fur, it had blue and pink patterns, I guess I thought they looked awesome.
Next I was with a receptionist and I was struggling to grab a bag of money. Then I guess it dawned on me that I had money to burn as Madonna’s relative, and I threw the bag of money down and said, “what do I need money for?” The girl laughed too, in agreement and I shook my head and went out of the office.
Finally I met my man again. And I knew that if I had just a few minutes of alone time with him, I would make him fall irrevocably in love with me. I can’t be sure if he was Christian Bale still, but my level of delight at having him is such that I think he must have been Bale in my mind. Truly, I don’t remember being this obsessed with a movie star in quite some time.
As for me, I was this awfully prissy girl, rich, spoiled, I had a ton of shoes and I didn’t seem to have a good handle on my life. Then Bale went missing, or he left, I wasn’t clear what happened, suffice to say, he disappeared from my line of sight. Then I had this project of looking through his old movies for “clues” and even the prospect of staring at him for hours on the screen delighted me and I was eager to begin.
Now, by this time, I had already awoken several times. But the dream had such a fascinating allure to me, that I kept insistently going back to sleep and as well as going back to the dream. So this was one of those times when I had fallen back into the dream, there was a bit of a disconnect, but the sequence went as follows.
I was trying to navigate my way around a building, with lots of tall steps and security. Doors were locked but I had the keys. I was at this one door and I knew this other man was coming up behind me and he was vaguely threatening. Perhaps I just didn’t want to talk to him. I fumbled with the keys, finally putting the key in the lock and opened the door. But I had to climb really high to get through the door and that delayed me further. I knew the man was closing in on me and truly, I didn’t know what threat he represented. But somehow I made it through the door and had it shut behind me. And I was relieved.
Next I encountered these ridiculous shoes, two of whom were falling apart, and I had to try a third one. It was plastic, with fur, it had blue and pink patterns, I guess I thought they looked awesome.
Next I was with a receptionist and I was struggling to grab a bag of money. Then I guess it dawned on me that I had money to burn as Madonna’s relative, and I threw the bag of money down and said, “what do I need money for?” The girl laughed too, in agreement and I shook my head and went out of the office.
Finally I met my man again. And I knew that if I had just a few minutes of alone time with him, I would make him fall irrevocably in love with me. I can’t be sure if he was Christian Bale still, but my level of delight at having him is such that I think he must have been Bale in my mind. Truly, I don’t remember being this obsessed with a movie star in quite some time.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Randy Pausch dies at age 47
Actually I apologize for making that somber announcement the title of this post, though I think it will be more of an attention grabber. The truth is, I don't intend to focus on his death at all, in the same way that Prof. Randy Pausch never did, even when he was in the active process of dying.
His last lecture, which has reached millions of people across the world, gave us all an opportunity to do a fascinating character study on this individual. He represents, in my mind, all that is best about America. This is not America of the 2000's, dark, somber, struggling with foreclosures and at the back of everyone's mind, the war in the Middle East, the perpetual terrible prospect of another terrorist hijacking haunting the corridors of every major airport security. No, he represents America at a simpler, happier time. What decade that is supposed to be beats me. Maybe it's more of an idea of America that he represents, but even so, that faint, delicate idea is enough, more than enough to change some people's lives forever.
Prof Pausch espouses creativity and individuality and tenacity to overcome hardships, but not in those tiresome nagging old words, repetitively droned into the children of America. We all know or think we know that it's a good thing to be those qualities. Dr. Pausch shows us a way, teaching by example, in effect. Make no mistake, there is no one way about things. HIs way will most definitely not be my way. Still, I can grasp to some limited extent, how wonderful it's all worked out for him and it wasn't necessarily any magic formula. It's all those cliches we've heard one too many times, but instead of being dismissive, he somehow made those cliches the foundation and structure of his life.
So this is my dedication to this sincere and impressive man and to another who preceded him, another favorite professor of mine, Dr. Morrie Schwartz, both had the tremendous burden of teaching and sharing their experiences in life, while in the process of dying. My hat's off to both you men.
His last lecture, which has reached millions of people across the world, gave us all an opportunity to do a fascinating character study on this individual. He represents, in my mind, all that is best about America. This is not America of the 2000's, dark, somber, struggling with foreclosures and at the back of everyone's mind, the war in the Middle East, the perpetual terrible prospect of another terrorist hijacking haunting the corridors of every major airport security. No, he represents America at a simpler, happier time. What decade that is supposed to be beats me. Maybe it's more of an idea of America that he represents, but even so, that faint, delicate idea is enough, more than enough to change some people's lives forever.
Prof Pausch espouses creativity and individuality and tenacity to overcome hardships, but not in those tiresome nagging old words, repetitively droned into the children of America. We all know or think we know that it's a good thing to be those qualities. Dr. Pausch shows us a way, teaching by example, in effect. Make no mistake, there is no one way about things. HIs way will most definitely not be my way. Still, I can grasp to some limited extent, how wonderful it's all worked out for him and it wasn't necessarily any magic formula. It's all those cliches we've heard one too many times, but instead of being dismissive, he somehow made those cliches the foundation and structure of his life.
So this is my dedication to this sincere and impressive man and to another who preceded him, another favorite professor of mine, Dr. Morrie Schwartz, both had the tremendous burden of teaching and sharing their experiences in life, while in the process of dying. My hat's off to both you men.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Angels in America
I've only just recently picked up this HBO miniseries from the library to peruse in my spare time. I found the series surprising on multiple levels but ultimately, delightful.
First of all, I did not realize this was going to be about homosexuality. I am by no means anti-homosexuality, my surprise is due to the fact that one does not usually see this topic treated in greater depth within the mainstream fare, besides the token gay hairdresser dotting the cinematic landscape. Of course I have much to learn about the gay culture. For instance, the other day, I was informed of what the term "down low" meant, of which I had hitherto never been aware of its double entendre.
But back to the subject at hand - Angels in America is essentially a play that was adapted to film and it is somewhat evident in the way the film is directed that it is still very conscious of its play roots. I don't know if I can explain it adequately, but a lot of the scenes still have a stagey feel, and one can get most of the dramatic impact from viewing the scene from one perspective only. The characters do a fair share of moving around, but the camera was not as nimble.
That is all well and good, because in my opinion, the two most delightful qualities about this work are a> its dialogue between the characters and b> the sheer melodramatic weight that it brings forth at key moments in time. It was damned funny too, at certain moments, as when Roy Cohn (played by Al Pacino) fakes his death to one up a gloating dead nemesis ghost who is very likely conjured in his imagination. The acting was great, stellar, magnificent by all its cast, but I thought the words, those words, are truly brilliant and of a class that I've not encountered in a while in any movie or play.
So many times throughout the film, I was rapt, thinking, "That's amazing! Why have I never thought to phrase things like that?" I suppose it's the egomaniac in me speaking, always wishing I could spit out brilliant phrases as casually as breathing, but it's also my genuine appreciation for literary prowess, of which Tony Kushner displayed to full glory in this masterpiece.
I would be in remiss if I don't actually try to give a summary of this story (spoiler alert), for those who happen to read this post. So few visit these days, so perhaps it doesn't even matter. sniff... Okay, enough self-pitying for now. So, the story is as follows. A gay Jewish man finds out his lover, a beautiful WASP, descended from a grand and noble lineage, has AIDS. He is horrified, understandably so, and struggled to be there for him. In a parallel story, a young Mormon lawyer married and living in NYC, struggles with his own hidden sexual identity and ultimately decides to confront it openly. His wife, with a history of abuse at home, is now a grown woman with emotional issues and is addicted to Valium. She has also perhaps been long aware of her husband's lack of desire for her and struggled to come to terms with the truth as well. The third story is of an aging Jewish lawyer, very vitriolic and hateful but still formidable. He also comes down with AIDS. The three stories, at first seemingly disconnected, intertwined ultimately in a very satisfying way.
The great thing is, all these people with their significant issues and problems and angst managed to not come across as a drag, a bore, a party pooper, or just plain depressing. Even at their worst, there is something delightful in the way they try to reason their way out of their miseries and bumble and stumble about, lost, confused, talking to imaginary friends.
It's poignant, it's touching, it's funny and it's sad, but the story triumphantly paints a picture of real human beings, not postcard characters, flat and glossy.
I am thankful of being reminded yet again what happens when several major talents (literary, dramatic, production and packaging) intersect successfully at a point in space, the result? An explosion of fireworks that gave birth to a story that will forever have at least one devoted and captivated fan from yours truly.
First of all, I did not realize this was going to be about homosexuality. I am by no means anti-homosexuality, my surprise is due to the fact that one does not usually see this topic treated in greater depth within the mainstream fare, besides the token gay hairdresser dotting the cinematic landscape. Of course I have much to learn about the gay culture. For instance, the other day, I was informed of what the term "down low" meant, of which I had hitherto never been aware of its double entendre.
But back to the subject at hand - Angels in America is essentially a play that was adapted to film and it is somewhat evident in the way the film is directed that it is still very conscious of its play roots. I don't know if I can explain it adequately, but a lot of the scenes still have a stagey feel, and one can get most of the dramatic impact from viewing the scene from one perspective only. The characters do a fair share of moving around, but the camera was not as nimble.
That is all well and good, because in my opinion, the two most delightful qualities about this work are a> its dialogue between the characters and b> the sheer melodramatic weight that it brings forth at key moments in time. It was damned funny too, at certain moments, as when Roy Cohn (played by Al Pacino) fakes his death to one up a gloating dead nemesis ghost who is very likely conjured in his imagination. The acting was great, stellar, magnificent by all its cast, but I thought the words, those words, are truly brilliant and of a class that I've not encountered in a while in any movie or play.
So many times throughout the film, I was rapt, thinking, "That's amazing! Why have I never thought to phrase things like that?" I suppose it's the egomaniac in me speaking, always wishing I could spit out brilliant phrases as casually as breathing, but it's also my genuine appreciation for literary prowess, of which Tony Kushner displayed to full glory in this masterpiece.
I would be in remiss if I don't actually try to give a summary of this story (spoiler alert), for those who happen to read this post. So few visit these days, so perhaps it doesn't even matter. sniff... Okay, enough self-pitying for now. So, the story is as follows. A gay Jewish man finds out his lover, a beautiful WASP, descended from a grand and noble lineage, has AIDS. He is horrified, understandably so, and struggled to be there for him. In a parallel story, a young Mormon lawyer married and living in NYC, struggles with his own hidden sexual identity and ultimately decides to confront it openly. His wife, with a history of abuse at home, is now a grown woman with emotional issues and is addicted to Valium. She has also perhaps been long aware of her husband's lack of desire for her and struggled to come to terms with the truth as well. The third story is of an aging Jewish lawyer, very vitriolic and hateful but still formidable. He also comes down with AIDS. The three stories, at first seemingly disconnected, intertwined ultimately in a very satisfying way.
The great thing is, all these people with their significant issues and problems and angst managed to not come across as a drag, a bore, a party pooper, or just plain depressing. Even at their worst, there is something delightful in the way they try to reason their way out of their miseries and bumble and stumble about, lost, confused, talking to imaginary friends.
It's poignant, it's touching, it's funny and it's sad, but the story triumphantly paints a picture of real human beings, not postcard characters, flat and glossy.
I am thankful of being reminded yet again what happens when several major talents (literary, dramatic, production and packaging) intersect successfully at a point in space, the result? An explosion of fireworks that gave birth to a story that will forever have at least one devoted and captivated fan from yours truly.
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