traffic...

For Matt Day...

I drove to San Antonio last weekend to party with Gran as she turned 80. On my way to Denton to pick up my sister, brother-in-law, and favorite nephew, I got stuck in traffic. I am not used to dealing with traffic; Shreveport has very little in the way of true "traffic," which is one of maybe three good things about living in Shreveport. Ok...one of four good things. I digress. I am ok with traffic, as long as there is a definite cause...a car wreck, perhaps, or a lane closure because of construction. I get frustrated when there is traffic with no identifiable etiology. I also tend to get frustrated when there are dogs running on the side of the road who are moving faster than I am. True story. It took me about an hour to drive the last 10 miles to Denton, which was actually surprising, considering I was stopped for most of that time.

Invariably, because my mind is predictable and certain situations make me think about certain bible stories, I started thinking about the Israelites wandering in the desert. I don't really know why or when this story started coming into my head whenever I'm stuck in traffic. It has been a pretty consistent thought for at least 4-5 years; I remember being stuck in Atlanta traffic for 4 hours once and thinking about the Israelites and their exodus from Egypt to Canaan. Maybe it is because it took the Israelites like 40 years and the entire book of Numbers to get to Canaan. You can read a little about their wanderings in the wilderness here, if you are interested. I once heard that the trip from Egypt to Canaan should have taken a week. I'm not sure if that's true, but it might explain why the Israelites grumbled so much.

I like to think that God had them in the desert to learn specific things about His character...sort of like a quick immersion into the basics of what being God's people looks like. Like, Trusting God 101: Gathering Manna. Or Veterinary Science 3300: Talking Animals. Or maybe Advanced Toxicology: Recognizing and Healing the Serpent Bite. Introduction to Religion: The 10 Commandments. This is merely speculation, since I don't know exactly what God's purposes were to have the Israelites wander around in the wilderness for so long. It might have been punishment for the whole golden calf deal. I like to think it is because if they had made it to the Promised Land right away, they would never have learned that they are desperately needy people. I wonder if any of the Israelites were ever nostalgic for the days in the desert, where they were utterly dependent on God to meet their need in exactly the measure and portion required. Did the taste of milk and honey drive out the memory of sweet water and manna?

Anyways...you can draw your own conclusions/analogies. I'm not sure what God's purposes are for me getting stuck in traffic were, but I like to think that it was to get me back to the basics of learning Who He is and how to trust Him.

the girl and boy...

"the girl and boy: once upon a time, a boy live alone in a small cottage. then he met a girl. the girl said Hello so the boy said Hello." -- excerpt from my first grade journal

I am in my hometown of Baton Rouge for a few days. I arrived on Friday just in time to make it to Zach's tee ball game. Zach and Nick are my little half-brothers; Zach turns five in July, and Nick is three. They are both very good at acting their ages. A typical conversation with Nick on any given day goes like this:

Nick: "What are you?"
Me: "What do you think?"
Nick: "Are you a dinosaur?"
Me: "Nooooo..."
Nick: "Are you a lion?"
Me: "Noooo..."
Nick: "You're Michelle!"
Me: "Good job, Nick."

(pause)

Nick: "What are you?"
Me: (tickling Nick) "What do you think?"

Zach has become slightly more grown-up and aloof since I last saw him. He no longer wants me to tickle him quite as much, and he won't sing silly songs with me anymore. But he has gotten pretty good at throwing a baseball, although he is still working slightly on his aim. He throws and bats right-handed but picks up a pencil in his left. I think my dad is praying that he will be left-handed and learn how to pitch.

Zach and Nick both think that I am hilarious.

I love them immensely.

My dad actually lives in Zachary now, which is north of Baton Rouge. My mom just recently moved from southeast Baton Rouge to near Prairieville, which is even more south and more east of Baton Rouge. So they live about an hour and a half away from each other. I drove to my mom's new place today after church and was roped in to helping her unpack some boxes. (Note: it is easy to persuade people to help you unpack when there is no walkway for you to give a tour of the place.) So we unpacked our way through to the kitchen, where we unpacked some more. My mom wanted me to go through a box of my old papers and help her decide what to keep. In the box, I found three spiral notebooks. One of them has Handy smurf with a pencil behind his ear and "Time to get Smurfin!" on the front. I think the oldest one is from first grade...the first entry says "Chapter 1: I Just traded peneils with Mary now I have seven pencils." I misspelled pencils at first, but made a nice recovery (I thought) by spelling it correctly the second time. I also like the fact that I decided to not just number my writings but assign them chapters.

One of my earliest works of non-fiction reads like this (from third grade, I think):
"Chapter 1: I went to Arkansaus. It was fun. We went to Lake Ouitia mountains. We went swimming everyday. We found quartz. We saw fish that bite. I had a nestle crunch bar. We went camping. We heard chackatias. We saw a slide show about snakes. We saw a Dr. Seuss Movie about The legend of the Lorax. We had a good time. But We saw fireworks on the lake. We learned how to skip a Rock. We got a giant walking stick in our car!"

With some added commentary:
Chapter 1: I went to Arkansaus [Arkansas]. It was fun. We went to Lake Ouitia [Ouachita] mountains. We went swimming everyday. We found quartz. We saw fish that bite. I had a nestle crunch bar. [This may appear to be random and in no way related to the vacation, but chocolate has apparently always played a really big role in my life.] We went camping. We heard chackatias. [cicadas...can you blame me for not knowing how to spell that one?] We saw a slide show about snakes. [I actually just saw another slide show about snakes in our Toxicology course last week...this being about 20 years later.] We saw a Dr. Seuss Movie about The legend of the Lorax. We had a good time. But We saw fireworks on the lake. We learned how to skip a Rock. We got a giant walking stick in our car!" [The giant walking stick is the only story that all of us remember about the trip. This was also the trip where my brother Daniel (now 23) stuck a rock up his nose and almost had to be carted to the emergency room, but luckily, he sneezed. He does not remember that story; he may have unconsciously repressed it. However, he does recall the giant walking stick.]

I have ceased writing fiction, but this is probably a good thing. Looking back at earlier works, I struggled with plot development.

"Chapter 12: Once a princess Lived in a castle that was made out of plastic. It broke once or twice. B she fixed it she was very neat. But one day the pirates blew up her Castle while she was picking berries and flowers. She picked two basket of berries and two bouquets of flowers. Then she went home, but there was no home. Of course the pirites blew it all up. She is now a poor old Lady who has been dead for a Long time."

I'm sorry if you were disappointed at the ending. I would have liked restoration of the plastic castle as well, but I have let the story stand as is.

And perhaps the most interesting evidence that I would eventually enter the world of infectious disease...

"Mr. & Mrs. Clown: Mr. and Mrs. Clown were very funny neighbors. Sometimes, they dressed up as clowns. Sometimes, they dress up as comidiens. Sometimes, they dressed up as sad clowns. Every day they were happy because they made people laugh. Sometimes, they would get a cold or a viras, but they would get over it. Sometimes, they would go on a vacaition. No laughs then. But one day they moved. I moved with them. It was fun. We went on a rollercoster! "I've never been on a rollercoster"! I exclaimed. I went to a fair but I've never went on the rollercoster before. Sometimes we won prizes. But we never everer went on a rollercoster. I thanked them so much, why I even hugged them. Thanks Mr. & Mrs. Clown."

Such wise words: "Sometimes, they would get a cold or a viras [virus], but they would get over it." Little did I know that I held the secret of the medical field...what we really don't want you to know. Probably 85% of the time, you will just get over whatever ails you. Physicians can treat you symptomatically, but your body is made so that it heals itself. The trick is distinguishing the 85% from the 15% who are actually sick and would benefit from medicine. The entire healthcare field hinges on this distinction. But we make a lot of our money off of people who would get better without any intervention.

Kids are funny. I am glad that I found some of my old work. "I hope you enjoyed it as well!" I exclaimed. I will have to remember to thank you for reading this, why even hug you.

purchased...

I've been reading a book in the bible called Hosea for the past week or so. In a nutshell, it's about redemption, but I feel like every time I open it up, there's another crevasse to explore to its depth...another light-reflecting/illuminating facet. The book has definitely kept me busy in my thoughts this week. One of the things that I keep coming back to is chapter 3, mainly because it's short and profound. Basically, God tells Hosea to love his wife again, who has gone off and become a prostitute. So Hosea goes, and when he finds her he has to buy her back with fifteen shekels of silver and a bunch of barley. I'm not sure if he was all that excited to find her. I wonder if Hosea was pissed off that he had to buy her at all or disappointed because his beloved wife cost so little. Fifteen shekels was not all that much back then. Joseph was sold into Egypt for twenty. If a bull gored a slave, the owner of the bull had to pay the master of the slave thirty shekels and kill the bull. So the damaged slave was worth about twice as much as Hosea's wife. Of course, the barley was probably worth about 75 shekels or so, but still...it seems like a meager price for a beloved bride, even if she was "spoiled."

I've been thinking a lot about worth...about what defines it and how it is measured...about what makes things valuable and what makes things rubbish. I think that God values different things than we do. In His economy, people are worth much more than anything else. Obviously, our value system in America is screwed up. (*Side note: I censored myself and used the word "screwed" instead of a much stronger word. But I really, really wanted to use the stronger word.) We turn everything on its head and create idols out of mortal/tangible things...then waste our time worshiping the decaying rubbish heap disguised as the golden calf and hoping that it will somehow save us. I'm not much different than Hosea's wife...I can be a cheap whore. I can be bought with a winning smile or a pair of deep blue eyes; I can be allured by recognition and money or the hope of the good life. I am trying not to be, but I am still guilty of having "exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things." Hrmmm...what a great definition for sin.

What is even more amazing is that God continues to pursue me in my harlotry. Ruthlessly...relentless...He does not give up on me. I have learned a whole lot about His character through the times when I'm out being a prodigal. I've learned even more about His love and faithfulness when I try to come back home as a slave. He automatically elevates me to bride...a costly redemption, but paid in full. Amazing grace.

infections and inequalities...

I would consider myself a pretty avid reader. I always have books stacked on my desk and nightstand, strewn around my car. I try and pass on books that I think others will enjoy...it makes me happy when they actually do enjoy them. It makes me sad when I can tell that they didn't read them. There have been a few books that have inspired/challenged me about medicine...so here is my journey, told through books.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made, by Dr. Paul Brand (with Philip Yancey) -- I picked this one off of the shelf at a Christian bookstore in 1999. I liked Psalm 139, and I had no idea what the book was about, but I took it home and devoured it. I read it a second time the next day. I have read it probably 4 or 5 times since. Dr. Brand challenges us to view the similarities between the human body and the church...to look at cells and chemistry and see the deeper meaning behind them. It was amazing. I started off college in 1998 thinking I was an engineering major; I stayed an engineering major for about 5 minutes into my first math class, where the professor literally did not speak a lick of English. I walked out of the classroom and went directly to the Junior Division counselors, where I dropped all of my classes and rescheduled as a psych major. After reading this book, I wasn't sure I wanted to be a doctor, but I knew I wanted to go into some kind of scientific field. I ended up loving microbiology, and so I switched my major spring of my sophomore year to micro.

Ten Fingers for God: The Life and Work of Dr. Paul Brand, by Dorothy Clarke Wilson -- Naturally, after reading a book by Dr. Brand, I wanted to know more about his life. I read about his life growing up in India, about his reluctance to go into medicine, about how God used his training in woodworking and house-building to lead him to orthopedics, and how he made so many advances in the modern understanding of leprosy as a disease. Being a micro major at this point, I loved hearing about the bug that causes leprosy...the tiny, slow-growing organism that invades nerves at their most superficial points (it apparently likes cooler temperatures than 98.6). It was neat to hear about his experiences using the new "wonder drug" during WWII -- penicillin. I was both fascinated and repulsed by some of the stories. I considered medicine as a career, but I wasn't certain of my own abilities. I did well in school, but I since I didn't think I was going to be a doctor, I didn't try and get straight A's. I also took random classes like "Intro to Anthropology" and "Greek and Roman Mythology." But I eventually found myself in medical school. I was as shocked as you are, I'm sure. J

Mountains Beyond Mountains, by Tracy Kidder -- This book made me incredibly uncomfortable. I was exhausted after I read it the first time. The book chronicles some of the work of Dr. Paul Farmer as he built and staffed a hospital in Haiti and served the people there. As an M.D. with a Ph.D. in anthropology, he views medicine and sociology as inextricably linked. He fights a noble battle against those that say that it is a waste of money to provide modern-day healthcare to "resource-poor settings" (a euphemism for third-world countries, so that we don't have to think about the shitty conditions that these people live in). Dr. Farmer is an Infectious Disease doctor, and he states several times in his book after telling a case story about the experience of a patient who narrowly escapes the jaws of death, only to be rescued by an antibiotic..."It's almost as if they had a treatable infectious disease." I could taste his sarcasm. I long for the passion and grit to be an advocate for the poor and the weak. When I was trying to make my decision about what kind of medicine I wanted to practice, it seemed obvious with my background in micro and my love for infectious disease that internal medicine/I.D. would be a great fit.

Right now, I am reading a book called Infections and Inequalities: The Modern Plagues by Paul Farmer. I guess that I should say, more accurately, that I'm reading the introduction to this book. It's incredible. I will have to give a more thorough book report when I get past the intro.

"Infections and inequalities: in a wealthy country, the specter of biological warfare...triggers a sort of officially blessed paranoia. In a poor country tightly bound to the rich one, real infections continue to kill off the poor, and we are told sternly to look harder for cheaper, more 'cost-effective' interventions. At best, those of us working in places like Haiti can hope for trickle-down funds if the plagues of the poor are classed as 'U.S. security interests.'"
Paul Farmer

"Medical statistics will be our standard of measurement: we will weigh life for life and see where the dead lie thicker, among the workers or among the privileged."
Rudolph Virchow, 1848

mosaic...

One of my friends recently wrote a blog about being a "cracked pot." Mainly it was about how he felt broken and damaged, but how his cracks and crevasses and wounds allowed living water to flow out. And this makes him attractive to other people who are broken and wounded and searching for living water, which he can easily share because water flows out of a cracked pot.

It reminded me of a women's retreat I had gone on in college. I was excited about this retreat...my church back in Baton Rouge has some of the strongest and humblest women I have ever encountered. I wanted to go so that they would share those womanly "steel magnolia" secrets...how to be the perfect combination of strength and beauty and softness and integrity. The leader of the retreat spoke about being "cracked pots," and how God either breaks us or allows us to be broken so that He can better use us to minister to others. I guess we can better spill living water or salt or light...pick your own biblical metaphor...if we have some cracks. We live in this world, and we're supposed to interact with it. It's hard for someone to fulfill their duties as the salt of the earth when they stay in a salt shaker (thanks Becky Pippen!).

At that point in my life (the time of the retreat), there had been about two times in my life where I felt like I had been completely shattered beyond repair. I think that I would add one since then...so three total now. When this shattering happens, I look around and wonder a few things: (1) how in the world did this happen? (2) why did it happen? and (3) where are all of the pieces? The shards have been scattered...I look around and can't find pieces that I thought would be integral to the structure and integrity of my clay pot. I think that God somehow causes some of those pieces that I was depending on to be completely removed or turned to dust and blown away so that I can no longer depend on them. I look around at the pieces that are left and try and make sense of them on my own, but I can only come up with less than adequate ways of trying to solve the puzzle. I like to think that God decides to keep some pieces so that He can use them in making the new pot...more like a mosaic than starting over completely from pliable clay. I don't think I make good clay. I would like to say that I remain soft and compliant to His will, able to be shaped and molded. This, however, is not reality; anyone who knows me would probably add a hearty Baptist "AMEN!" to that statement. I know that I am susceptible to being baked and hardened by situations...wandering in a desert, for instance. Or playing with fire (figuratively speaking, of course).

This entire blog was probably too allegorical and all over the place, but I have been told by many people (including a therapist) that I view the world in metaphors, and it helps me deal with my own insecurities without having to be too transparent. :) So there you go. It's also after midnight, and I'm stuck at the hospital, (where I can't ever really sleep) on psych call...which is bound to anyone slightly crazy.

patchwork quilts and fruit

My life is a patchwork quilt of ideas and thoughts, the material gleaned and scavenged from authors, musicians, philosophers, and other people who have walked and thought before me. I've stitched their ideas and thoughts together with the threads of my own perceptions...trying to create something that will one day be beautiful and complete. Sometimes I insert a piece of fabric only to take out the scissors later...the piece didn't quite fit right or add to the pattern of the quilt. At times, I can't see the whole pattern of the quilt. Sometimes a person comes along, looks at the quilt, and says, "Here...this piece goes right here." And I will let them add to the quilt because they stepped back, took a really good look, and saw what I was trying to create better than I did. There are other times when someone looks and says, "Look here...your stitches are a little off. Let's rip this piece out." And it hurts, but a lot of times they are right. I want to hold on to that piece, but it needs to be removed. I have been lucky enough to have friends tell me when a piece is ugly.

I think that God has been doing this a lot in my life recently...adding pieces and removing others. Jesus used another analogy for this process...a vine and its branches. The pruning is not easy, but it is necessary. Sometimes I feel like He prunes all the way to the stump, getting rid of all the dead branches and rotten fruit that I've been holding. Sometimes I feel like He prunes away fruit that looks good to me but needs to go away so that branch can bear a better bunch of grapes. And fruit can look good, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it is good fruit. It might taste bad or be made of plastic. Bearing plastic fruit is one of my worst fears...I want to be as real and honest as I can be. I think one of the worst things about being a medical student is that you have to look/act like you have it all together, even if you don't. I usually don't. This attitude has become more prevalent in Christian culture...please don't show me your struggles or sin, because then I might have to show you mine, and I prefer to hide behind my fig leaves. I'm not saying we should confess everything to each other, but maybe it's part of why we are supposed to fellowship with each other. It helps that were not the only person in the world who is being pruned. It helps to know that we're all attached to the same Vine.

why baptists normally don't hold church services on Friday night...

*disclaimer...this was not written to defend or offend any one denomination...merely an attempt to somehow reconcile my Catholic upbringing with my current Baptist situation, and to somehow make sense out of my own faith*

I went to a Good Friday service at my church tonight. I was raised Catholic, and holy week is actually something that the Catholics do quite well. There is nothing like a Good Friday mass at a Catholic church to make you take a good long look at the cross. The service I went to tonight, however, was not at a Catholic church. It did have communion, and I was grateful for that part of worship. This church does not have communion often, which I think is sad. Communion is something that I feel should be an integral part of worship among fellow believers. It is a very intimate time, a reminder not only of sacrifice and covenent love, but also of the sustaining life that we experience in Christ. That being said, I think it cheapens it slightly to reiterate over and over again that the wafer and grape juice are merely symbols. I understand that transubstantiation (where the Catholics believe that the bread and wine actually become the body and blood of Christ) is a hard doctrine to swallow (no pun intended) as a Baptist, but I think they carry it a little too far to the other side. Is there some middle ground somewhere? And I hesitate a little to criticize, because I want the Baptist church to have communion more often, so I applaud the fact that they offered it tonight. I was left feeling a little unsatisfied with the grape juice, though, and am sipping my glass of wine as I write this.

I also had the privilege of sitting next to an obnoxious drunk during the service, which again brought me back to my days as a Catholic. At first I thought this person might have been a little hard of hearing, since she was probably in her late 50s or early 60s and talking pretty loudly before the service, but then I could smell the unmistakable smell of ethanol emanating from her. I caught myself being judgmental at first, but then I started smiling. I was truly glad she was there. I liked watching the people turn around in disgust and look at her as she made loud comments during the service. I almost defended her when the deacon shushed her as he passed out "the elements." I think she may have been disappointed when she found out that the grape juice was, um, unfermented. It turns out that she was Episcopalian. I haven't had that much fun at this particular church in a long time. I wanted to invite her out for a glass of wine afterwards, but I guess that would be "enabling."

from Easter...What Do You Think?

Each year around this time, I tend to go back to the gospels and read about the week before Jesus was crucified. There's a lot of material...the writers of the gospels obviously considered this period pretty important. Today I was particularly struck by a story about two sons:

"What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work today in the vineyard.'
'I will not,' he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
"Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, 'I will, sir,' but he did not go.
"Which of the two did what his father wanted?"
"The first," they answered.
Jesus said to them, "I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you."
Matthew 21:28-31

What do you think? I think there would be a lot of "Christians" who would be pissed off to know that there are prostitutes and tax collectors entering the kingdom of God ahead of them. I like how King James says it..."the publicans and the harlots." Or, let's be even more brutally honest...what if the passage said, "I tell you the truth, the homosexuals and Democrats are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you"?

What do you think? I think that this passage reminds me of another tale of two sons, more commonly known as the "prodigal son." This is the story where the rebellious/promiscuous/prodigal son comes home smelling like a pig and gets the royal treatment. What most people don't remember is that the other son gets jealous of him and won't join in the party. I think that the same judgmental attitude exists in the church today. I think we fail our brothers and sisters when we compare ourselves to them and come out smelling less like a pig. I think we are deceiving ourselves if we think our sin is "better" just because it's easier to hide. I think the fig leaves we sew for ourselves are inadequate at best and downright pornographic at worst. Because they do little to hide our nakedness from a Holy Father.

What do you think? There is only one other place where Jesus says, "what do you think?" (Matthew 22:41) And I think that the question "What do you think about the Christ?" is the most important question you will ever have to answer.

Mr. Rogers

Sometimes I feel like Mr. Rogers. I guess should explain. See, every day, I get up, take a shower, and drive to school. When I get out of my car, I take my short white coat from where it lives on the back of my seat, put it on, and throw my stethoscope around my neck. Then I walk the short distance to the hospital and be a fake doctor all day. Afterwards, I walk the short distance back to my car, take off my white coat, and put on my jean jacket (if I was feeling particularly rock star-ish that morning) or sweatshirt, and head home. I don't have a zippered cardigan, and I don't change my shoes to slippers, but the idea is basically the same. The ritual is comforting. But unlike the dichotomy in my outerwear, I don't shift gears as fast. I am still thinking about a patient I saw in clinic last week, wondering if her recent blood clot in her leg and anemia is pointing toward an occult malignancy somewhere...maybe colon cancer? I'm not sure which is worse...not being able to distance myself from people who are hurting, or hardening my heart to where I can no longer see that they are hurting. I hope it gets easier.

"Put me together, one heart and mind; then, undivided, I'll worship in joyful fear."

...100 things...

1. I am watching Ryan Adams on Austin City Limits right now.
2. I am trying to decide whether he would be a better musician if he wasn't on so many mind-altering substances, or whether he would stink and be totally uninspired. Either way, I wish he wasn't so wacked out.
3. I usually play my guitar after watching concerts because I feel inspired to create music.
4. I usually get frustrated doing this because I'm very mediocre, and any kind of lyrics I try to create are not really poetic.
5. One my favorite lyrics that I ever wrote is "unexpected beauty in these shards."
6. One of my friends, Eric, could be a poet, but he chooses to live his life making video games.
7. The only video game I've ever been good at is Tetris.
8. One of my favorite TV shows to watch is America's Funniest Home Videos. They always makes me laugh (the videos, not necessarily the hosts' commentary).
9. Another one of my favorite TV shows is Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. It always makes me cry.
10. My Sunday evening ritual is to watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, eat popsicles, and cry.
11. Popsicles are quite possibly my favorite thing to eat.
12. Except maybe Chinese food.
13. Or chocolate.
14. A dessert without chocolate should have a different name.
15. I would like to have a different middle name.
16. My middle name is Patricia. Ugh.
17. So my full name is Michelle Patricia Nalepa.
18. That has 24 letters in it.
19. My full name does not fit on any scantron.
20. I only have like three more scantron tests to take. Ever. I think maybe I have a couple more computer tests, but not very many more scantron tests.
21. People who don't have to take tests anymore make me jealous.
22. I really am a HUGE Nerd. Note the capital "N."
23. I think that the show "Beauty and the Geek" should have a season where the guys are the "beauties" and the girls are the "geeks."
24. I would totally apply to be on that show as a geek.
25. I am pretty much a sucker for reality TV, especially if it is done poorly.
26. I tried to live on $3 a day one week last semester.
27. This was a self-induced experiment to show I could empathize with poverty.
28. I only lasted 2 days.
29. I binged on a sandwich from Subway.
30. It wasn't very good.
31. I felt guilty afterwards.
32. Once, my school had us take the city bus to the Providence House (a homeless shelter in Shreveport), and do a community service project there. The point of having us take the city bus was to show us how people who don't have transportation can sometimes have trouble getting to places in a timely manner.
33. My friends and I drove to the downtown bus station and tried to take the bus from there instead of catching the bus right by the school.
34. The person selling the tokens looked at us like we were crazy and told us the Providence House was a block west of the station.
35. We ended up walking to the Providence House.
36. I think we missed the point of the assignment.
37. It's probably not the only time I have missed the point of an assignment in medical school.
38. I'm sick of being in school, but...
39. ...I'm scared of being in the working world.
40. I still have no idea what I want to do after I graduate from medical school...like what kind of doctor I want to be.
41. I only have like 5 months to try and decide.
42. I will probably put it off until the last minute.
43. I was trying to figure out today if you have to file taxes even if you didn't technically make any money all last year.
44. Money is sort of a foreign concept to me.
45. Luckily, I don't have too much of it right now.
46. One day I will have money, and then I will be put in the position if people like me because I'm me or because I can pay for dinner.
47. I think I will be a generous person and pay for dinner anyway.
48. I want to live outside of Louisiana for my residency.
49. There is a good possibility that I will not return to Louisiana if I move away.
50. I want to cheat and say that I'm halfway done, but...
50. Here's my real #50 - I think I want to live in Texas when I grow up.
51. Everything is bigger in Texas.
52. Especially Dallas. Dallas is huge.
53. The Bowling for Soup song about coming back to Texas is actually named "Ohio."
54. My brother-in-law is from Ohio, so it is one of the few states in the north that I have been to.
55. We did not get Mexican food up there, so I don't know if it "sux" or not. (Quote from the Bowling for Soup song, if you are not familiar with it.)
56. It might be an ominous sign when you have to explain a joke in your "100 Things..." blog.
57. I like the word "ominous." It just sounds, um...ominous.
58. I just used MSWord to look up a synonym for ominous.
59. "Ominous" can be used synonymously with "threatening," "warning," "worrying," "gloomy," "portentous," "menacing," "boding evil," "ill-omened," or "unpromising."
60. I'm hoping that this blog is not unpromising.
61. I really am a Nerd.
62. I like the song "Such Great Heights" by Iron & Wine.
63. I have a freckle in my left eye.
64. This would mean that a guy with a freckle in his right eye would be "perfectly aligned." (Again, a quote from the song. Sorry for feeling the need to explain.)
65. I failed an assessment for low back pain test because I forgot to check for perfect alignment of the spine.
66. It was pass/fail, must pass, so I got to take it again.
67. I passed the second time.
68. I wish all tests were like that.
69. I'm scared of missing a big, obvious, life-threatening diagnosis in a patient when I have an M.D. behind my name and am actually responsible for that patient's health and well-being.
70. I feel that this is a legitimate fear.
71. I started having anxiety dreams about this kind of stuff happening...where I have like 40 patients and all of them are really sick and dying on me.
72. I wake up in cold sweats afterwards.
73. I still have anxiety dreams about waiting tables.
74. These dreams are not as intense.
75. Mainly, my waitressing anxiety dreams consist of me waiting on everyone in a crowded restaurant, and I have to cook all the food because the chef quit, and I am what the restaurant business calls "in the weeds." Which means really, really, busy.
76. I wake up thinking, "I forgot to get them their guacamole." Or marinara sauce, depending on which restaurant I was working at in my dream.
77. A lot of times, I feel like I didn't get any sleep all night because I was working in my dreams.
78. My friend, the aforementioned Eric, says he doesn't dream. Ever.
79. A lack of dream activity can mean a protein deficiency or a personality disorder, according to one website.
80. See #22 and #61 for explanations as to why I actually googled "lack of dream activity."
81. Sometimes I wish I had just become a teacher, since I found out that I really enjoy teaching people.
82. I was a TA in anatomy lab the summer after my first year in med school, and I loved it.
83. I could have saved a lot of money had I figured this out BEFORE I went to med school.
84. But maybe it's all for the best...now I can stay in academic medicine and teach future doctors. I think this will be rewarding.
85. One of the things I pray for is to be a more "graceful" and "gracious" person.
86. This does not mean that I pray that I wouldn't be clumsy.
87. It means that I wish to extend the grace I have received to those around me.
88. It is often easy for me to get aggravated or frustrated with people who don't think like I do.
89. This is because I generally think that I am the most important person in my world.
90. I am trying to change my view on this and be more conscious that there are other people around me who are, in fact, as important as I am.
91. One day, I tried another experiment where I vowed to only see the beauty and good in people that day, and to try not to pass judgment about anything else.
92. I didn't make it past 10:00 that morning.
93. This is mainly because everytime I looked at someone, I realized how beautiful they were, and I spent most of the morning close to tears.
94. I didn't feel guilty about not finishing the experiment.
95. I think that God let me see people how He sees them that day.
96. It was one of the most powerful experiences in my life.
97. I still get frustrated and aggravated with people sometimes. And I'm sure I'm not real easy to get along with all day, every day.
98. But I love that I'm in this process of learning how to just be in this world and relate to people and serve others and know Him. I love it.
99. Sometimes I wish I was talented or beautiful enough to be a rock star.
100. But then I might have ended up like Ryan Adams. And you already know what I think about him.