on being a patient

Medicine is truly frustrating sometimes. And truth be told, it's not until you're a patient that you really understand that. Until you're experiencing this yourself, you can really only pretend to know what it's like. It's worse when you're a physician-turned-patient: you confront the reality of the system first-hand, from the other perspective now. Your authority as doctor, your white coat, your medical knowledge hold no water. They don't help you, because you are now in the role of patient, and that's that.

It is so unbelievably frustrating to visit many different doctors, to be referred to various specialists, only to realize that each and every provider has their own opinion, and sometimes even their own agenda. As if it isn't stressful enough to be diagnosed with an illness - no matter what kind of illness that is - being shuttled back and forth between different physicians, being told one thing by one but a different thing by someone else... Not to mention the frustration of being stuck with an IV a thousand times over for a thousand different scans and diagnostic tests and procedures. I'm not even the one this is all happening to, and I'm tired of it all at this point - I can only imagine how my mother feels about it all.

The illness experience isn't limited to the patient - it affects the entire family. I wouldn't wish this kind of stress upon anyone.

tbd.

We, as humans, like to think we are infallible. That no harm can come to us - indeed, it's not until we fall sick that we realize how much we take being healthy for granted, and wish we could go back to that state.

TL;DR: My mother has been suffering from recurrent pneumonia. A bronchoscopy today showed a mass in her lower right bronchus. It could be a carcinoid or a carcinoma, benign or malignant. We won't know until the results from the biopsy come back (and that won't be for about another week).

The procedure was surprisingly short - my dad and I waited outside, and it felt like she had just been wheeled off by the nurses when the attending walked over and called us back into the patient room. In reality, it had been about 20 minutes, but it didn't feel that long at all. When he came to get us, the physician had a smile on his face, and that gave me hope. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. The procedure would be uneventful, the obstruction nothing to worry about, my mom would come home, and things would go back to the way they were.

When he sat down with us, however, I could tell something was up. The smile had vanished and his face was serious. My heart began beating faster, and at that moment, he told us that he thought what he saw down there in my mother's lung was a tumor.

Tumor. Cancer. Benign. Malignant. Lymph nodes. Metastasize. Survival rate. All of these words began whirling through my head. I felt numb, paralyzed, unable to do anything but sit there, frozen, while the doctor's words floated through my ears. I asked a few questions, but the answers I got weren't satisfactory enough. We would have to wait until the biopsy results come in, he said, before we would be able to truly identify what it was and where exactly to go from there. He said that no matter what, however, surgery would be required to remove the lobe. Not the tumor - the entire lower lobe. When my father asked him how much of her lung function she would lose, he replied, "About 20%."

I sat there in shock. I honestly didn't know what to do - I felt like my whole world had come crashing down on me. My mother is the strongest person I know - she has been through so much, and she has never once faltered. I've admired her strength and fortitude and perseverance for much of my life; cliche though it may be, she is my inspiration and role model (not just because she's a physician). Especially in recent years, since I've gone off to college and discovered my own perspective on things and who I really am as a person, I've come to love and appreciate her even more. Today, when I heard those words from the pulmonologist, I couldn't accept that my mom, this amazing woman who had raised me and inspired me for so long, had the potential to be branded with the words "cancer patient." Her entire fierce, unique identity, the things that make her who she is, gone in an instant - only to be replaced by the shroud of cancer. No, I thought. This isn't possible. This can't be happening.

When the attending left the room, I held my head in my hands and cried.

Things have changed. Since we've come home, the entire atmosphere of the house has changed. My father grew quiet, forgoing the blaring news channels to instead sit with my mother and talk with her for several hours about things that I can only guess at. The only thing that's stayed constant is my brother, with his ceaseless energy and enthusiasm that all kids his age possess. As I play with him, I find myself almost jealous of him and his innocence - of the fact that he has no real idea of what's happened, and that to him, life goes on as usual, when to me and to the rest of us, it's clear that nothing will ever be the same again.

an ode to educators

it must be a strange feeling to be a teacher.

you educate hundreds of students. each year brings a new batch. and yet, when the end of the year comes, they move on, while you stand still. you are like that lone solitary rock, standing in the sea as waves come through incessantly, beating a consistent, never-ending rhythm upon you. and as they all move on with their lives, going on to do greater things, it feels like you stay static. you are the one constant in this ever-shifting variable of the classroom.

i had an incredibly vivid dream last night that i went back to my middle school and visited my middle school teachers. it was final exam season, so all the students were sitting at their desks intently working on their tests. i remember looking down at my watch and registering the time as 2:48 pm, and realizing that it had just been over an hour since the exam period started. in my dream, i had the chance to meet and talk to my 8th grade social studies and 7th grade science teachers. but the one person i had really wanted to see - my 8th grade english teacher - i couldn't, because the exam period hadn't ended yet and the door was still shut. and of course, the dream ended before i had the chance to see her.

this is the second dream i've had about visiting my middle school, and in both, the chance to speak to my english teacher has evaded me. it's endlessly frustrating, because i think, if i can't go back and visit her in real life, can't you at least give me that opportunity in my dreams?

when i woke up this morning, the first thing i did was try to go back and find her in the staff directory of my middle school. however, i got a nasty shock when i discovered that her name was missing. when i continued digging, i discovered that she had resigned just about two years ago.

i was stunned. how could she have left? didn't she know that i had been planning to visit sometime in the future? how on earth was i supposed to contact her now? the last email exchange we had had was in 2010, during my freshman year of high school. that fact also surprised me, because it didn't feel like six years had passed since we last communicated.

six long years. i let that sink in, and realized something: time doesn't stand still. just because things were one way while i was there doesn't mean that when i return, things will be exactly the way they were when i left. my absence meant a lot to me, of course, but it means very little in the grand scheme of things. the universe doesn't revolve around me. time doesn't stand still. time, as my grandmother used to say, waits for no man.

when i think back to all the times we spent in class together, all the times i used to go and visit her during lunch period and after school, when we'd just sit and talk, all the valuable advice and guidance that i received from her over the course of that year, what was to be my final year in middle school and in Massachusetts, i am overcome with an immense rush of gratitude and affection. she had more of an impact on me than she realizes, probably - it certainly was that way for me. truth be told, she was the first teacher whom i can honestly say was a role model. she inspired me in a way that no one else had up until that point. my 8th grade experience was, quite honestly, the most rewarding experience i'd had, and i truly owe all of it to my teachers.

so for all the teachers out there, especially the ones who i've been fortunate enough to have, over the years, as instructors and mentors and guides: thank you for all that you do. those words are honestly not enough to express how grateful i am for the things you've taught me and the way you always believed in me. thank you for seeing the potential in me and being so important in making me the person that i am today. i especially want my middle school teachers, particularly my english teacher, Mrs. Richmond, to know this: you are amazing. truly. middle school students are a difficult bunch to teach (i remember all too well what my classmates used to be like at the time), and it takes an infinite amount of patience and determination to not only teach them, but to do it well, so well that you become an integral part of someone's memory, permanently etched in their minds, so that people like me still remember you and think of you fondly every single day. so thank you.

Literature + Medicine Conference

Last Tuesday evening, I had the good fortune of meeting Dr. Abraham Verghese, author of My Own Country (the memoir we studied in our socio-behavioral sciences for medicine class last semester) and Cutting for Stone (one of my mother's most favorite books). Ever since we read his memoir in class, I've considered Dr. Verghese one of my role models, partly because his accounts of the way he treated his patients inspired me, but also because his writing and his life gave me the confidence to begin writing myself. It was pretty much because of him that I now have made it my goal to publish a memoir by the time I die, and get other, shorter works of writing published in journals or other publications along the way.

Dr. Verghese has inspired me more than I can put into words. That's why when our professor emailed us about the Literature + Medicine conference, saying that he was going to be speaking there, I immediately jumped at the opportunity and registered as soon as I could. Even so, however, I didn't really know what I was getting into - I had no idea that I would actually get to meet and speak with Dr. Verghese himself in person.

I arrived at the conference half an hour earlier than I had expected to. There was no traffic on the road, so at 5:30 exactly, I had pulled into the lot and parked my car. I got out of the car and walked upstairs to the reception, expecting to just stand around for an hour until the conference was ready to start.

Instead, as soon as I entered, I encountered one of my classmates, and fifteen minutes after that, he tapped me on the shoulder and whispered excitedly, "There he is!"

I turned around, confused. All I saw was a bunch of well-dressed men and women. "Who?"

"Dr. Verghese! He's right there, in the blue suit, talking to that group of people."

After a few seconds, my eyes landed on a man dressed in a blue suit with his back to us. I was about to turn and say, "Are you sure that's him?" in a skeptical tone of voice, when he shifted and I got a glimpse of his face. Yep, that was definitely him. Dr. Verghese and I were standing in the same room, literally ten feet away from each other. I was at a loss for words.

"I had no idea he was actually going to be here, talking to people before the conference! I thought he was just here to speak. I might actually get to talk to him now, if I just go up and introduce myself."

With that, my friend and I decided that we would go get copies of his books and have him sign them for us. When we returned, we stood near enough to catch his attention, and after introducing ourselves to him and getting our books signed, we walked away, trying not to make it obvious how starstruck we were.

Later, just before the conference started, I went up to Dr. Verghese again because earlier, I did not get the chance to actually talk to him like I wanted to. Even the second time, I had to speak really quickly because the conference was about to start and I didn't want to take up any more of his time, but I finally got the chance to ask him the question that had been burning in the back of my mind ever since I read the last page of My Own Country: what advice did he have for aspiring physician-writers?

After reading Dr. Verghese's first memoir, I talked to my mom about how much I enjoyed reading it and she started sharing with me more essays written by and interviews with other physician-writers, such as Atul Gawande and Paul Kalanithi. Reading physician memoirs and writings has almost become a new favorite hobby of mine; after reading fiction for so long (which I've spent pretty much my entire life doing), it came as a surprise to me when I found that I had as much interest in reading these nonfiction pieces of writing as I did those books. I still remember being told back in middle school that it would become important for me to cultivate an interest in books beyond the genre of fiction; at that point in my life, I refused to believe it and would pointedly walk by the nonfiction section of the library every single day as I made a straight beeline for the works of fiction that captivated my attention. It's only in retrospect now that I can look back on little me and laugh at how naive I was. That's childhood, I suppose.

When I asked Dr. Verghese that question, I felt a sense of great anticipation and suspense build. His answer, however, was simple: gain as much experience as you can, and read a lot. The simplicity of his answer struck me as rather anti-climactic in the moment, but as I sat down and thought about it for a minute, I realized that there really was no better advice I could have been given. I'm determined now to take his words to heart - I will not throw away any opportunity, and I will take every experience, whether good or bad, as something to learn from. The stories and poems that were shared with us during the conference were emotional, inspiring, and wonderful pieces of literature. I can only aspire to write like that. Dr. Verghese's lecture at the end also had some words of wisdom that have stuck with me - the one thing I liked the most was his analogy about the apartment break-in to explain the difference between curing and healing. I hope that by writing this now, that when I'm a medical student in the future, I can look back on this post and remember the sense of awe and determination his words inspired in me, and use those to keep moving forward and be not just an effective physician, but a compassionate one as well.

learning about animals at a birthday party

Last week, I volunteered with UNICEF at the Birthday Party Project in Dallas. This organization is dedicated to bringing joy to homeless children by hosting monthly birthday parties for them. At the party, we helped put up decorations, gave the kids with birthdays their birthday badges, and at the end of the party, handed out party favors to all the kids as they left and helped clean up the room afterwards.

When they came in at the beginning, screaming and running around, I was unprepared for the noise but their excitement to be there made me smile. Most of the party consisted of a show by the "Critterman," a trained professional who came in with various wild animals, showed them to the kids, and taught them about those animals, their habitats and behaviors. It was quite amusing to see how the kids screamed and moved away when the Critterman took out a reptile and a giant constrictor at the very end, but what was most remarkable was seeing how the kids slowly inched forward as he told them about the animal, and finally even worked up the courage to go to the front and hold or pet it. That was the best thing about it - not only did the kids get a lesson on wild animals, but also had the chance to get over their fear of them. Even I was able to learn some things from the Critterman that I hadn't known before!

Overall, the birthday party didn't last very long (less than an hour), but even in that short amount of time, I could see the impact it had on the kids who were there. It made me happy to see that our simple efforts brought the kids such happiness. As we were handing out goody bags to the kids, one little boy came up to me and proudly showed me his stuffed hedgehog that he had gotten and allowed me to pet it. The birthday party was a rewarding experience because it showed me how something as simple as a cupcake, a birthday gift, and a place to celebrate could bring the kids so much joy. I hope that in the future, I'll have a chance to help out with another birthday party.

service with UNICEF

UNICEF's volunteering events are always such a fun experience. At our last event, my friends and I agreed that of all the service clubs we've been a part of in high school and college, this one has done the most in terms of providing a diverse array of volunteer events and done a great job in putting them together. Honestly, I've enjoyed volunteering with UNICEF more than with any other club; over the year, we've helped out at so many different places and events, and they've all been really great experiences. Last semester, the Genesis Children's Theater was the first place where we worked, and at the end of the semester, I had the chance to volunteer at two places: the Trains at Northpark, and the Love for Kids Annual Fair in Flower Mound.

The Trains exhibit volunteering was fun because for one, I had always been curious about the trains exhibit, and as a volunteer I was able to see the entire thing for free, and secondly, the kids who came to see the exhibit with their families were absolutely adorable. It's been a recurring theme that all of UNICEF's volunteer events have had something to do with children (which I guess is fitting, considering the mission of the actual organization itself), and I've personally loved that because I love children, and I've gotten to interact with kids of all different ages and backgrounds at each of the different events I've volunteered at.

The final volunteer event of the semester was the Love for Kids fair. It was in Flower Mound, which is pretty close to where I live, so I was excited to volunteer there. Since it was so close to my house, I was actually surprised that I'd never heard of this event before, especially since it's an annual event. That's another thing I really admire about UNICEF- they do such a great job of finding all these volunteer opportunities that I never would have discovered just on my own. I would say that this event was probably my favorite of the entire semester; not only because the fair itself was great, with tons of different booths, music, food, and (of course) kids, but also because the table I was managing was filled with books that we were to give to the kids. My job at the fair was basically to share with these kids the importance of reading, and allow them to pick any book from the table and take it home with them. I loved doing this, because a lot of the books on the table were actually books that I had read and loved as a child; all I wanted to do was stand there and look at them all day long. It was pretty funny, actually, because we had to split up among several different tables and everyone unanimously decided to keep me at the books table because it was obvious to them how much I wanted to be there. What can I say? I've been a bookworm all my life. I wanted desperately to share the magic of these books with all the kids who came by.

reflecting on the year, and looking ahead (or, a post filled with cliches)

12/31/2015. It's New Years Eve, and in less than an hour, I'll have to say goodbye to 2015 and begin a whole new year. I think New Years Eve is my favorite day of the year, because it's the perfect time to think back and reflect on the events of the past twelve months, and think about how many things you've experienced and how much you've changed as a person in that time. Of course, being the sentimental sort, I guess it's no surprise that I love this day. It's quite honestly bittersweet, because even though it's exciting to have a new beginning and think about all the amazing things that are yet to come, it's also kind of sad to think back on all the great memories from the past year and realize that once the clock turns midnight, you'll have to say goodbye to them forever.

This past year was a rollercoaster - there's honestly no better way for me to describe it. Academically, socially, and personally, it was a year of growth. I went through so many things - some good, some bad - but overall, no matter how good or bad they were, the important thing is, I came out of them stronger and learned some lessons that I probably wouldn't have learned otherwise. What's that saying, about experience being the best teacher? That is so very true.

I've never much believed in the whole New Years resolutions business, but a few weeks ago, when we were all sitting around and talking, one of my friends asked me what my resolution was for 2016. I stopped for a minute, because I had never really given it much thought, but I soon came up with one. We went around the circle, and each person said their resolution. And when it was my turn, I looked up, smiled, and said, "My resolution is to live each day to the fullest." That might be cliche, but that is honestly my goal - to cherish all the little moments that make the year memorable, because those are what make life worth living.