Hot n cold

[all in Taiwanese, unless otherwise noted.]

Grandmother
What's wrong with you? Why aren't you eating?

Me
Because I feel nauseous. I think I have the flu.

Daddy
No I'm sure it's just a cold.

Me
No dude, I think it's the flu. I have fevers and chills and my body aches all over.

Grandmother
Then you should take some [random Taiwanese drug].

Me
[in English]
What's that?

Daddy
It's a really good antibiotic. It just came out.

Me
[in English]
If it's the flu, antibiotics won't help. I need an antiviral.

Daddy
Stop being so stubborn. Just take the medicine. I'm sure it'll help.

Me
[frustrated, in English]
Dad, it actually won't help. I have a virus, not a bacterial thing.

Grandmother
Well, then - what DO you want?

Me
I dunno. Tamiflu?

Grandmother
Oh my goodness. Who cares about Tammy when you're sick like this?!

Right as rain

Guilty as charged.

Hey, before you go accusing me of hitching my wagon to the whole environmental movement, my dad is an architect and his specialty is sustainable living. So I grew up with this stuff, and was forced to live green before Al Gore and Leonardo DiCaprio made it all fashionable to save the planet. Yeah, I was into recycling before all the cool kids were. So there, pfft.

Also, I'm pretty sure that the Boy will see "unplugging everything" and start cracking up. Because that is so me. I love bare outlets. And line-drying laundry (helps prevent shrinkage!).

Raise the roof

I've never made a gingerbread house in my life. Well okay, I remember attempting to make one. In second grade, my teacher had the bright idea to have us all make gingerbread houses for our parents out of graham crackers and frosting and candy. But, when you have a bunch of six-year olds running the show, that just means lots of gingerbread house materials in our bellies, and less so on our plate, much less so in a nice house-like fashion.

Anyways, getting back to the point of this post. Just in time for the holidays, I ran across this contest, and lo and behold - the most beautiful gingerbread houses I've ever seen in my life!

I've never made a gingerbread house before. And now after seeing these ones, I probably never will. Because clearly, some things are best left to others.

Seriously, how can you make something so amazing AND edible?! This is impossible to me! Look at those lines! The shapes! The colors!!

Sure they say that things are made out of pretzels and gum paste and mashed up cornflakes and whatnot, but I don't believe it. These are clearly little house/cottage/lighthouse models that they must have stolen from architectural firms or something.

At least, that's what I tell myself so that I can sleep at night.
--
Also, another thing - I looked at the first couple of entries and was amazed that so many doctors have the time to make crazy intricate things like these gingerbread houses. Seriously, I was thinking things like, "Wow Mary E. Timonium, MD - that is an amazing lighthouse you made there. How many patients did you see while you were making this?" I then quickly realized that the MD following their names was referring to the state that they live in, not necessarily their occupation. See, my brain is fried from all this kidney studying.

You're not sorry

Once upon a time, a sleep-deprived young woman went to medical school to learn how to become a doctor.

On glorious wonderful days, she only had two hours of lecture. On terrible gloomy raincloud-infested gray skies days, she had four hours of lecture. Now, you might think that this sleep-deprived young woman was merely a big whiner, but brains are only so big, and can only hold so much information. Even with the help from a little sidekick named Coffee.

Today was a terrible gloomy raincloudy day. Oh crap, she thought as she opened her eyes to the annoying and cloying sound of her alarm. But nevertheless, the sleep-deprived young woman dragged herself out of bed and prepared herself for four hours of mind-numbing medical knowledge.

So as the young woman sat there in class, trying desperately to be like a sponge and soak up as much knowledge as she could, the third hour of lecture began and she realized something. This 3rd hour lecturer was someone different!! He was a substitute for the 1st hour professor! At first the young girl smiled brightly and said hallelujah as she cried tears of joy in her head, for the 1st hour lecturer had mottled things up and confused her brain greatly. And when things are that low, how much worse can it be?

But oh, you silly second year med student, you forget that it can always get much much worse.

As the 3rd hour guy starts talking, the young woman's head begins to explode, for you see, the man can barely speak English. Taking a subject material that is already difficult and throwing in a foreign language component just makes this all a recipe for disaster. And thus begins the agonizing trip through the third hour of lecture.

At 10:59am, a fellow young student raises his hand and lets their lecturer know that even though he is on slide 21 of 70, they have another lecture at 11am.

The 3rd hour lecturer can't believe it, "This class goes until noon!"
"Yes, but we have another lecturer," says the student, politely but firmly.
"Oh, I don't go until noon?" he asks, confused.
"No!" comes a booming voice from behind a pillar.

Lo and behold, it is the 4th hour lecturer, who had snuck in the back door just 10 minutes ago.

"Oh I'm so sorry! Um, let me just finish very quickly. Um....may I have just a couple of minutes to finish? SO SORRY!" he says, while looking meekly at the foreboding 4th hour lecturer.

The 4th hour lecturer appears to ponder this over, and when he seems to give the slightest of nods, the 3rd hour lecturer pounces and starts taking us through the rest of the slides.

Except he proceeds at the same pace as before.

The class titters, but no one says anything.

The clock slowly ticks away, and after another agonizing ten minutes but only five slides later, yet another student raises his hand to inform the 3rd hour lecturer of the time. "Oh, but I still need to show you..." the 3rd hour lecturer begins to say. But the 4th hour lecturer can't take it anymore, and cuts him off, "NO, YOU ARE DONE."

It turns out that the 3rd hour lecturer was a fellow. And the 4th hour lecturer? Oh, he was merely THE CHAIRMAN OF THE DEPARTMENT.

The young sleep-deprived girl then went to the library to study, and was sad that she could not yet take a nap.

And so they lived very unhappily ever after.

Gotta get thru this

Knowing that I'm just a week away from good food and family and lots of mornings sleeping in, makes me very happy. Knowing that I've got to get through a massive test first, makes me less happy.

I can do this. And as my mother keeps promising me, there will be a giant bowl of Taiwanese beef noodle soup at the finish line. She clearly knows what motivates me.

I can do this. I will do this.

---
Yeah, I know the picture really doesn't have anything to do with this post, but they're cute and it makes me happy. And when I'm stressed out, I like things that make me happy. That probably explains why there's popcorn and candy and Oreos galore surrounding my desk.

Take a bow

I didn't really believe it when I first heard about it in October.

What? Us? Really? How is that possible?! Why? Are you sure?!

I was flabbergasted. And then earlier this month, we got an official email - an email sent to everyone across the nation.

Northwestern University's APAMSA chapter was honored with the Best Fundraising and Chapter of the Year awards for the 2007-2008 school year.

I still don't know why we got it. I knew our group was active and very involved in everything, but never did I think we would walk away with the Best Picture equivalent at the APAMSA Oscars. When I sent in our application, I was about to board a plane for Taiwan, and so, needless to say, our good deeds and merits were mentioned, yes, but only very briefly.

I guess all those leadership forums and high school clubs did teach me something after all.

I'm very proud of my school and my chapter and the rest of the officers and of course the members, and gosh darn it, I can't stop grinning.

I can't quite believe it, but I'm definitely not going to refuse it. We worked hard, and it's nice to be recognized. I lived and breathed for APAMSA, and it feels so good to get a little love back in return.

Chapter of the freaking year!! Holy moly!

Got me going crazy

Every year around the holidays, Victoria's Secret unveils an amazing fashion show on primetime television that features Heidi Klum, Miranda Kerr, and Alessandra Ambrosia posing seductively in skimpy little nighties and other such naughty lingerie.

During the commericals, there are a variety of VS ads. One campaign in particular has been around every year and asks the viewer "What is SEXY?" clearly expecting the answer to be Adriana Lima or any other young Brazilian model.

And while I do find a good push-up bra to be pretty amazing for cleavage, this is what I find sexy.


Boys doing housework.

Seriously, it's a wonderful thing. It's even better when they don't ask you if you need the help, and merely take up the vacuuming for you when you go for a bathroom break.

It's only life

Darren: Aw man, I've got Daft Punk stuck in my head...
Me: Yeah? I've got the new Britney Spears song stuck in my head.
Darren: Okay, you win.

Darren and I were small-talking right before our midyear Clinical Skills Assessment. Given how last week was the terrible Hematology-Oncology-Endocrinology test and Thanksgiving break, I definitely did not study for this properly. I wrote out what questions I was supposed to ask, did a quick run-through of all the physical exam steps I'd have to perform, but I was by no means prepared.

And now, here I was - about to knock on my fake patient's door and somehow stumble my way through the test, all while Britney sang songs about circuses and ringmasters in my head.

Yeah, this was gonna be real great.

So I knock, get the "come in!" and somehow manage to trip myself on the door frame. Seriously, how does that even happen? Thank you, Foreshadowing, nice to meet you.

So my patient actor was given a character to play. Specifically a 41 year old man who has chest pains and might be an alcoholic. I introduce myself, and with that ubiquitous "so what brings you in today?" question, the exam starts.

The history-taking went okay. I asked all the questions I could think of. Actually, it probably would have been great except for all my nervous chatter about how he looks much younger than 41, and how even though he doesn't have an actual exercise regimen, he looks good. Buff. Tan.

Did I mention my patient actor was really cute? And young?

Yeah. Word vomit.

But I think he liked me. That, or he felt sorry for me. See, before I moved on to the physical exam, I asked my catch-all throwaway question, "Is there anything else you think I should know?"

It would have been easy for him to say no. And I expected him to say no. But instead, he furrowed his brow, and said, "You know, I think I'm just really anxious about this 'cause my dad died of a heart attack at age 48. And you don't think my meds could have caused this, do you?"

Oh crap. Family history and medications. Two things that I forgot to ask about. Two very important things I forgot to ask about.

Thanking him silently, I asked him questions from that section of the history, and then after getting the all clear, moved on to the physical. Where I also proceeded to trip all over myself. Literally. I tripped over the little step stool that patients use to get on the exam table. The first time I took the blood pressure, I forgot to put the hearing pieces of my stethoscope into my ears. During the ear exam, the speculum came out and got stuck in his ear canal. When I listened to his heart, I didn't hear a thing because my own heart was about to pop out of my chest from nervousness.

But I got through it, and somehow managed to score pretty well. I even got high marks for smiling (read: dying of embarrassment) and making conversation (read: word vomit).

I don't know whether to be proud of myself or be worried for the future of medicine.

Simple gifts

Every now and then, you find something that you would totally buy for yourself if it weren't so perfect for someone else.

Today, I was browsing some holiday guides, trolling for The Perfect Gift, and then I found this website for string doll key chains...each with its own name and "superpower." And not only were they cute, they were pretty much so perfect, I couldn't imagine my friends without them.

For my friend Ankur, who loves The Simpsons, and sent everyone every single version of the SpiderPig song that he could find:

For my friend Amy who is an absolute dance STAR on stage (of course, I'd get it in the color green, not blue):

For my friend Jefferson, who reminds me of Paul Farmer, because he's going to save the world (and because he's Mormon):

For my little sister, who sits in her room with no lights on, and listens to angsty teen music:

And for my friend Jeff, who is happier being sad and moody than being happy (he and my sister would make a great couple):

For my best friend and roommate, Lisa, who not only has the best heart and intentions in the world, and also listens to all of my lovelorn problems and fixes them:

For my friend Rachel, who is Jewish, loves playing poker, but also could make a living out of playing soccer, I'd have to debate between these two:


And for my friend Neil, because his name is Neil (and I personally think this one is the cutest):

And then for Martin, as a thank you for dating someone who had an overactive pituitary gland as a child:

Too bad the price tag on these things isn't as adorable. Keep your fingers crossed for me that Cyber Monday will lead to a huge sale on these so that I can afford to stay in school and actually buy Christmas presents for my friends.

The Hokey Pokey (that's what it's all about)

There is a website where this guy will mail you stuff if you buy things from him. There's one where if you help pay for a trip to Japan, he'll mail you an envelope full of star sand. (There's a picture of the sand, and it really is quite beautiful since it's all made up of little tiny shells and pretty shaped things.)

There are empty envelopes for sale, one-of-a-kind pictures of the sky, lava rocks, etc. And I kind of want to donate to all of these things, because they're unique and interesting, and I want to feel like I do more than just sit in my room and study. How cool would it be to say that you funded a expedition to Iceland for lava rocks? Or a mission to Japan for star sand?

But I think the one thing for sale that appealed to me most was this one:
Seriously, how wonderful is that? To know that you're just giving away free cookies. You're gonna buy $30 worth of cookies and make that many people smile. It's something so simple, and yet, bound to make at least one person's day. I know if I got a free cookie, I would be ecstatic. I'd be so happy I might even clap my hands because I know it and I really ought to show it.

I almost clicked on that PayPal link. And I started fantasizing about what my bullet point would say. "Michelle purchased the giving away of cookies from Mrs. Fields' in Chicago, IL. The first cookie was given to a homeless man on Michigan Ave. and Erie, and the last one was given to a doorman at the Trump Tower."

And then I decided that I would make some cookies of my own, and hand them out. After all, it's not like I don't have two hands to bake with, or two legs to walk around with, or one mouth to yell out "Free COOKIES!" with. Maybe I'll hand them out in the Loop, or next to the beach, or maybe for all those shoppers on Michigan Ave.

'Tis the season, after all. I can't wait to make some people smile.

Damaged

** Sorry to renege on promises, but I'm recuperating from test-taking and the fantastic-ness of last night's Thanksgiving Eve dinner. And on that note, turkey in a bag works!

---

An old friend of mine called me up today out of the blue.

You won't believe who I just ran into on the street!

It was one of our former co-workers. He was kinda sleezy back then - proclaiming his love for Asian girls right and left, hoping his Southern accent would get him some tail, and declaring everything as "awesome."

Run into, or run over?

We laughed, moved on, and started reminiscing about that wonderful summer. We worked hard - who knew that faculty advising high schoolers would be so difficult? - but we definitely played harder. 3AM trips to the local UCLA pub, nightly Journey karaoke, trips to SF and Vegas. Summer '06 was a good one.

And then of course, that brought up the End of Cycle employee party. Akin to a normal office party, but with young sleep-deprived twenty-somethings, some pot, lots of alcohol, and a sleep pod.

I have to study, so I can't go into it...but check back Wednesday for the full story. I promise, it's a good one. There was lots of puking, lots of hooking up, and lots of damage that night. Damage to furniture and hearts.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Real or not, this is pretty hilarious. Don't honk at old people...they'll fight back!



Hee hee!

Buy you a drank

RF
Yo buddy! How's it going? How's the studying?

Me
Eh, can't wait for this unit to be over.

RF
Yeah? What's up dude??

Me
Haha, I'll tell you Wednesday when I come over to help cook turkey. Three hours of pure gossiping!

RF
Oh yeah!!

Me
I'll bring beer and whine.

Me
I meant to type "wine" but that is also strangely appropriate...

Girls just wanna have fun

It's one week until Thanksgiving!!

My friends and I are having a potluck thanksgiving, and of course, the task of cooking the actual bird fell to the ladies. Now, mind you, none of us have ever roasted a chicken, much less a turkey. But we have faith in ourselves. And very detailed step-by-step recipes.

So after much emailing back and forth about different recipes, which one did we choose?

Should we live out our Top Chef dreams and make a Tom Colicchio turkey? Or go with the tried and true Martha Stewart "Perfect Roast Turkey"? I mean, even Gwyneth Paltrow raves about it in her GOOP newsletter.

Well, we decided that for our very first turkey EVER, we were going to go with...

TURKEY IN A BAG!

Yeah I know. We're such food connoisseurs, can't you tell? Apparently it works like this:

Step 1: Put frozen turkey in oven bag.

Step 2: Put turkey in the oven bag into oven and forget about it for three hours as you play board games and drink cranberry champagne cocktails. Do not worry about plastic melting into your turkey.

Step 3: Remove turkey from bag, and enjoy!


Yeah, I'm a little skeptical, but apparently it's not that far out there. I mean, there are even Reynolds Oven Bags that are specifically TURKEY SIZE.

Who knew? Seriously! This is amazing. Put it in a bag, forget about it, and somehow it will be come out JUICIER and TASTIER than you ever imagined.

I'm kinda super duper excited. But just in case, I'm hoarding all the Domino's pizza coupons I can find. I mean, we have to feed people after all.

Silent sigh

Me
Oh my god. The guy next to me in the library keeps sighing like he has the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and he has no idea what to do. He's all like - SIGH. I hate life. SIGH.

RF
What? Seriously?

Me
Yeah. Freaking every five minutes. SIGH SIGH SIGH. You know, giant deep breaths in and then a long agonizing wail as it comes back out. That's what he sounds like. You know what's even better? Every so often, he'll mutter "oh God" or "whyyyyyyyy?"

RF
WTF.

Me
I know! I want to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to go take his suicidal ideation elsewhere because his whole 'woe is me' attitude is NOT GOOD FOR CONCENTRATING. That's so mean, huh?

RF
No, it's not mean. It's necessary. Do it.

Me
Okay.

RF
NO WAIT COME BACK - I WAS KIDDING!

Wordplay

I'm kinda awkward. I know it. We all know it. But that awkwardness probably stems from the fact that I don't know how to talk to strangers or a crowd of people that numbers above six. Don't tell me to take a stand and make an argument, when I'd much rather wax poetic. Because when it comes to making a point, I usually can't. Rambling - it's what I'm good at!

In my ethics class, we always meet all together, and some speaker will come in and present us with dilemmas and then the entire classroom will discuss what to do. Or rather, five very outgoing people in our class will make their arguments, and the other forty-five of us will sit there and nod our heads appreciatively when someone makes a good point.

My biggest fear is that one day I might get called on.

Thankfully that didn't happen today.

After our large class discussion, we break up into designated small groups for more focused discussion. There are twelve students in my group. Which is apparently the magic number for things to all go to hell, because there has not been a single time when I've been able to say something succinctly without ending on "so umm, yeah, you know?"

"So umm, yeah, you know?" is probably not a good way to get people to see your point.

Today we had a discussion about quality of life. And lots of people mentioned family and having fun with your friends and enjoying activities and having the ability to actually go out and do stuff and blah blah blah. It was all good stuff. Someone was talking about how dance is so important to them, and how if they lost the ability to dance, it would be devastating to them. And then, I felt the need to participate. Mind you, I wasn't called on or anything. I could have kept nodding my head if I wanted. But something moved me to participate.

Hey, guys - do you remember that one ethics activity we did, where we described our perfect child?

They didn't.

Oh, well...maybe it was just in my group. Well, we wrote down everything we wanted for our children. Ten toes. Ten fingers. Blue eyes. Tall. Athletic. Gregarious. And so on and so forth.

Still blank stares.

You know...and then we had to determine how many of those things we could take away before we decided we didn't want that child anymore. Before we would abort the baby instead. And we realized that the one thing we wanted for our children was happiness and joy. Who cares if they don't have ten toes or ten fingers? We just wanted them to be happy. Of course, there's that one callous person in my group who wanted his daughter to be drop-dead gorgeous or have the fetus aborted --

Here, someone stifled a laugh. Whether it was at me or at my terrible attempt of a joke, I don't know. Anyways, I decided to wrap it up.

But we just want our children to be happy. So um, yeah...you know?

Blank looks still. Actually, no, the looks were all, what the heck is she talking about? Looks that were all totally warranted, because I don't think I made my point very well. Which is that we defined quality of life for our children as joy and happiness. So why should it be any different for us? Who cares if we can no longer move around or whatever? We didn't care if our kids had ten toes or none at all, as long as they were happy, we clearly thought they should be born. As long as we're happy, I think our quality of life is pretty good.

Someone else piped up then with something completely different, and discussion and attention moved away from me, thank goodness.

Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot. And this is probably why I don't pipe up in discussion all that often. Because I don't feel I can make compelling arguments, even though I know that technically, at the root of the matter, my stories do make sense and my points are good.

(Man, even that last sentence was awfully wordy.)

But seriously, I don't know what's wrong with me. I get all self-conscious, and it probably doesn't help that only one person in my small group talks to me outside of class.

Ring the alarm

This is not the kind of news you want to wake up to. Especially when it involves the only home you've ever known.



So you know how on the news there's been all this talk about the California wildfires? Turns out I shouldn't have been so cavalier about it when the talk first started. My hometown was evacuated last Saturday night. And there are pictures everywhere of the hills surrounding my town going up in flames. Even amidst stories about "lulls in winds," there are pictures of what is essentially my backyard, filled with black toxic smoke. The picture on the front page of the LA times? That's the freeway exit to my house - merely two minutes away. And even the caption refers to the firefighters doing battle. Note: they are not "fighting flames," they are battling flames.

This is the map that scares the crap out of me though. I mean, look! All arrows point to Diamond Bar. And every time they update it, the flames are ever closer. The red area encroaches farther and farther in. But what can I do? Gotta just keep my fingers crossed, say my prayers, rain dance, and perform rituals for the Wind God. They say to assume the worst, and hope for the best, right? But I'm praying for miracles. Please please please - don't burn down, house. Don't burn away because you are all of my childhood memories wrapped up in four walls.

A big hearty thank you to all the firemen out there who are fighting to keep flames from engulfing my house. Huge hugs to those flying airplanes dropping fire retardant everywhere to keep my little town standing. Thank you to the visiting fire crews for driving all night from central California just to help out Los Angeles. Thank you for doing everything you can to save my home, my childhood. You truly are heroes.

Sure, it might look different when I finally go home - a little less green, a little less pretty - but honestly, I just want a place to go home to.

To my friends out there, stay safe! And please listen to authorities and evacuate if you have to!

Single ladies

This is freaking awesome. Wow wow wow.

Better off alone

There are some days when even I can't believe how amazingly awkward I can be.

(That's not a good thing.)

Being a second year med student sucks. The constant studying and no playing makes for a terrible schedule. And now that we're about three months in without a proper vacation, people are starting to burn out a little. Despair a little. Worry a lot.

One of my classmates wrote a blog about what she was feeling. Wrote about how she was feeling a little homesick. And a little bit sick of some of her self-centered classmates. But that at the end of the day, she had fabulous friends who could get her through anything.

I read her note and empathized. And I wanted to reach through my computer and give her a giant hug and let her know that she's not alone in feeling what she's feeling. Yeah, some of our classmates are a little full of it. Yeah, I'm feeling homesick too, wishing for my mommy's cooking and my dad's god-awful karaoke. But we're all gonna get through it. And if I could be of some comfort, I wanted to let her know that I would be there for her. If she needed me for anything.

That's what I wanted to say to her.

I guess I forgot that you never address the blogging world in the real world.

The next morning in class, I yelled out her name when I saw her walking to her seat. Jeanie! Jeanie! She turned awkwardly to look at me. After all, we might be on a first name basis, but we don't necessarily talk to each other. Much less about our dreams and fears.

Yeah?

Oh, so um, I read your blog post!

...oh, um...

Yeah, and uh, I just wanted to say that...your friends are great! And I'm glad someone brought you chicken soup when you were sick because you deserve that kind of kindness...

....oh. Um. Yeah. Thanks?

At this point, my inner voice was telling me to retreat. Yelling at me to wrap it up. I mean, seriously Michelle. This conversation is awkward. Stop prolonging the awkwardness!

But I ignored it and just kept going.

Jeanie had turned around by now. And for the life of me, I don't know why I did what I did, but instead of being a normal person and dropping the subject once and for all, I instead called out her name again.

Jeanie!

She turned reluctantly to face me.

Um, you know what's funny though? When you said that 24 was just around the corner, I thought you were talking about the show! You know, the one with Kiefer Sutherland? Man, that show is awesome.

She kinda smiled and laughed politely. Yeah, no...I was talking about my birthday.

Yeah, I know... I tried to reply. But she was done with this conversation, and rightly so, because who wants to prolong a date with Awkwardness? So she had turned back around and was readying herself to take lecture notes like a good student.

I had good intentions. And all I wanted was to convey positivity and friendliness, but instead I just came off as some strange girl who stalks her blog. I came off looking possibly like a girl who is severely socially stunted. Good one, Michelle. I don't understand why I couldn't just STOP TALKING. It was just word vomit. I knew I should have stopped, but it was like a car wreck. Everything slowed down, and while I could physically see the awkwardness happening, even if I reached out my hands, I couldn't stop it from happening - I couldn't stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

I cannot wait for Thanksgiving. Hopefully I'll talk to some people and figure out how to be normal again.

We go together

Featured on PassiveAggressiveNotes.com yesterday,

I shouldn't be laughing, but it's so true! And I came so close to living there in the Asian hall. Thank goodness for Kemper - also anti-social, but integrated, not segregated, baby.

Santa Claus is coming to town

This totally put a smile on my face.



I mean, how could it not? Good job to GAP on spreading the holiday cheer. I love it (and the cute sweater that Janelle Monae is wearing)!

Underneath your clothes (there's an endless story)

I've seen my fair share of naked patients.

I'm always very aware of how uncomfortable and unnerving it must be to the patient, but it's necessary for us to perform a thorough exam - to fully be able to palpate lymph nodes and feel for pulses. And so we ask patients to change into a hospital gown, with the ties in the back. Granted, most times the patients are never completely naked. We try to give them as much of their decency as we can allow - so underwear is allowed. Sometimes bras or undergarments. But essentially, if the patient doesn't take off all their clothes, we just work around it. I remember one patient who wore five sets of underwear. He had his briefs on over an ACE bandage, and then three - count them - three different pairs of boxers. By the way, he was in the hospital for viral gastroenteritis (in other words, something completely unrelated to his genitalia). And so, when it came time to examine his abdomen, which was being completely obscured by yards of fabric, we just peeled back enough of it so that we could listen and palpate.

Anyways, the point I'm trying to make is this. No patient ever has to go completely naked. Because we know that it's awkward and weird, and makes the patient feel totally self-conscious.

Yesterday night, I was sitting in the hospital lobby, next to the Starbucks, waiting for Martin to finish his shift so that we could go home and have dinner.

As I was sitting there studying, I heard a man's voice singing as he came down the escalator. And his song got louder as he headed towards Starbucks. So I looked up. And there was a patient. In a hospital gown. And then as he breezed by me, I realized that that was ALL that he was wearing. Just the hospital gown. Just a tent-like piece of fabric barely long enough to cover his naughty bits.

Our gowns come in only one size, and you can adjust how tightly you tie it in the back. The man was slightly obese. And so the ties were pretty loose.

So yeah, as he breezed by me, I also realized he wasn't wearing any underwear. And everything his momma had given him, was hanging out. His big beautiful and saggy butt was on full display.

Best part? He came and sat down on the couch across from mine while he was waiting for his coffee to finish brewing. So to my fellow students - avoid the couch facing the window next to the entrance. After all, no one knows how well or how often they sanitize the lobby furniture.

I would say it was awesome, but I'm still flabbergasted just thinking about it.

With love

It's been one week exactly. Let's not lose that lovin' feeling. No, let's stick together and make our nation great and truly indivisible. Let's pledge our allegiance to the flag and one another. Even amidst all of our economic woes and world troubles, it really is a great time to be an American. Because there's promise of a better tomorrow.

(For more awesome love letters, go to from52to48withlove.)

Up up and away

Because sometimes, you just wanna get away - away from the world and the terribleness that sometimes comes with it - without changing out of your pajamas.

...
I really wish I had some fifty million balloons right about now, too.

If the youtube link isn't working, the HD (ie, pretty! clear! reach out and touch it!) version is here.

Stuttering

My preceptor used to really like me.

Let's back up. So I've met with my preceptor five times now. The first time we met over coffee with her other med student, and then she showed me around the hospital. She asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and not being a total kiss-ass like the other student on my team (whom responded that he too wanted to be a hospitalist, just like her), I truthfully answered that I wanted to go into pediatrics. Her face changed slightly, and she kinda ignored me for the rest of the visit. But after that initial visit, I met with her on my own and I think I was starting to win her over. She told me my oral presentations were fantastic, and I had really good bedside manner. In fact, I know I was doing better, because for our last two visits, she bought me coffee. Starbucks coffee.

And then, I had to go and ruin all of that.

So today at preceptor, I had to perform a complete history and physical on a patient. My patient turned out to by a very opinionated, but very sweet old woman (who used to be a nun!). I asked my questions and did my little exams (observe, percuss, palpate, auscultate), and went back upstairs to see my preceptor so I could give my oral presentation.

I was all over the place.

"Miss McEntire is 72 years old female with a past medical history of diabetes, presenting today with abdominal pain and lots of vomiting and nausea - five episodes max. Oh and transient ischemic attacks - four of them in May 2004, September 2006, and August 2008 - oh sorry, that was part of her pertinent past medical history. Anyways, um, this started two days ago when she, um, woke up to sharp pain radiating down to all three lower quadrants. She claims no alleviating factors, but says that lying on her left side is aggravating. Oh and position and movement. And a hot - no, warm! - water bottle. Because that's what she used to self-treat, but it ended up hurting..."

Yeah, that look on your face right now? That what the heck is she talking about face?

Mirrored on my preceptor's.

It was pretty terrible. I seriously don't know what happened. I even wrote things out in an orderly manner. I particularly like how I mentioned there were four TIAs, but only gave dates for three. Oh, and you know how I said that they were part of her pertinent past medical history? They weren't pertinent at all.

Anyways, you'd think it couldn't get any worse, but it did. At the end of my convoluted mess, my preceptor asked me what I thought it was.

"Um...."

And there was silence. For a good thirty seconds. Uncomfortable, squirm in my seat, awkward silence.

"Um...well...um..."

Here, my preceptor tried to help me out and point me in the right direction: "She had abdominal tenderness. And what did her CT show?"

"Inflammation." Right on cue.

"Right, so now what's on your differential diagnosis?"

"...um....um....malabsorption syndrome?"

"..."

I said malabsorption syndrome! Which, to my credit, does present with inflammation. But if I were just to ask a random person, what causes extreme pain on your right abdominal side that could cause you to wake up in the middle of night and needs to be taken care of right away? you'd probably get the answer my preceptor was looking for.

Because that would be appendicitis.

Or even, just something simple like 'what causes stomach pain and vomiting?' would yield a better answer than malabsorption syndrome.

Cause that would be food poisoning.

But okay, so I'm a little slow when it comes to medical diagnoses. I know I'm not going to be the next Dr. House. That's fine. The thing that broke my heart was the way my preceptor looked at me. Like she suddenly realized that I was not the mentee she was hoping for. I didn't have the smarts or natural mental acuity to be the next her. I was suddenly, just another medical student, and she was disappointed in me. She snapped out of it quickly, stepped back into her teaching role, and took me down to see the patient. And elicited all the information she needed and performed a better physical exam in less than ten minutes, whereas I was with the patient for a little over two hours. And then, I was dismissed to go home. But instead of the "good job today" that I've come to expect, I merely got a cursory "see you in two weeks."

So since then, I've been a little crushed and a lot disappointed at myself today. Because I should have done better. I know I definitely could have done better.

She didn't buy me coffee today.

God bless the USA

Yes we can! Yes we can! And we DID.

America, we made history tonight, and I couldn't be prouder. Tonight is a truly amazing, truly historical, truly wonderful night.

I came home from the library at 7pm sharp, so I could watch all the poll results come rolling in. And since I hadn't scored a Golden Ticket for the Obama rally and the Boy was on call, I was glued to the TV. I switched between Anderson Cooper on CNN (they had cool fancy graphics, although I still don't know what to think of those holograms) and the regular networks all night. No commercials for me!

And let me tell you, I was nervous all night. I tried to eat dinner, but more food ended up in my lap than in my mouth. I gnawed a hole in my sleeve when the first poll results came in, and McCain was ahead. But as the night progressed, states slowly started to flip. Obama was painting the nation blue. And at 10PM Chicago-time, history was declared. America elected its very first African-American president.

But it goes so much farther than the color of his skin. This is a man who has truly energized the nation. He's inspiring and inspired, promising to unite our divided country and restore the American Dream, and I sincerely do believe that a change is going to come.

Yesterday - even just earlier today - I was glad that today was the end of the election. After all the fact checking and articles written by political pundits, I would finally be able to get back to my studies and not troll CNN.com's Political Ticker every five seconds. But as Obama said in his speech tonight, tonight is not the end. No, tonight is just the beginning.

Tonight, Obama pledged to be our president... the president for the "young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled." We voted for change, but now we must all start our quest to make change happen. And while he said "the road will be long, and the climb will be steep," that is a journey I can't wait to take. That is a journey that leads us to a better American future.

Call me cynical, but I never thought I would see a black man become the President of the United States. And to have such history happen at my relatively young age, makes me wonder at the history that is bound to occur throughout the rest of my life. It's going to be an amazing. These next four years will be amazing. And I cannot wait to see all that we can accomplish. Because it's going to be extraordinary. It's going to be exciting. It's going to be historical.

A change is gonna come

I woke up today feeling giddy. Kind of like a five-year-old waking up on the day of their birthday party - excited and ready to rip open presents. My heart was pounding, and there was a huge grin on my face.

Today is election day!

I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but this is the first election where I've felt personally invested. This is the first election where I've actually cared. Bush and Gore? Why bother - clearly Gore was going to win. And Bush vs. Kerry? Sorry, I had midterms to take.

But this election year is a whole 'nother story. Because the next four years are going to be important for me. I am no longer going to be the perpetual student, shielded from the economy and wars by the three walls of my library cubicle desk. No, this election is going to affect my life, my work, my family. And best of all - after all these days of complaining about my health insurance, or rather, lack thereof, we are finally having an election where that was a major talking point. There's finally talk about withdrawing our troops, and I hope that there will soon be an end to the CNN articles that tell us about the daily Iraq death toll.

So yeah, I'm invested. Tonight I'll watch the poll results come in and be excited, instead of years past where I've always been disappointed that House was preempted for this presidential crap. No, I'll be excited, because today, America rewrites history. Today, we will find out who our next president will be. The first African American? The oldest president ever? Regardless, today America will decide a new path - a new destiny - for our truly wonderful nation.

And with the largest voter turnout ever predicted, today is guaranteed to be exciting. Historical. Nerve-wracking. And hopefully joyful.

See you on the other side.

Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts

Medical students just might have a superhero complex.

After all, for the most part, we all came to med school to save lives. We want to care for patients and make them feel better. Lessen pain. Even those who came for the fast cars and the easy money snapped to reality very quickly and either left or realized that they actually do want to help people.

And so we start school bright-eyed and excited. Hungry to be getting out there to make an impact in the world. I mean, most students can tell you everything about their first patient. First and last name, age, date of birth, what they presented with in the ER, the complete differential, and possibly even how many dogs and cats they have. It's because we're hungry to help, hungry to finally be able to touch someone's life. And so that first patient is super special, because it's validating. This is, after all, why we came to medical school. To care for patients.

What they don’t tell you is how absolutely and completely scared they are.

Yes, I remember the very first patient I saw. He had a foot infection secondary to lower extremity neuropathy, was fifty-seven years old, and a successful interior designer. And he has three cats named Fluffy, Mops, and Piglet.

I could rattle off his differential diagnosis (there were really only two possibilities), and impressed my preceptor with my detailed assessment and plan. We should start him on antibiotics and antifungals – perhaps a cephalosporin and nystatin? Oh, and let’s order a CBC to make sure his white blood count is okay so he can fight off this infection.

I might have sounded confident, but in reality, I was shaking in my Crocs when I walked in the door. After wanting to come to medical school for all the right reasons, I was now convinced that somehow or another I might accidentally kill the patient. What if I tripped over his IV line? What if he coded? I had no idea how to do anything, much less save a life. I was terrified - irrationally so, considering I was merely going to ask him a couple of questions, and while my mother always complained of it, I don’t think I could actually talk someone to death.

As medical students, we are obsessed with death. Our Type A personalities might have drawn us to medicine, but that same personality is what makes us equate death with failure. Yet, death is a very tangible thing in medicine. Medicine is a profession that constantly straddles the line between life and death, and the relationship between the two is pervasive and ever-present. A simple mistake or a wrong decision can have devastating results.

I am just starting to realize the amount of medical knowledge that exists out there, and how little I know of it. I am starting to realize that no matter how hard I try, I will inevitably kill someone. Sure, it’ll be accidental, due to an oversight, maybe because of a lack of knowledge. But I also know that I will be devastated. I will be devastated, because causing harm to a patient is to go against the very thing I came to medical school for.

But I will learn from it. Apologize to the family. Face the consequences. Figure out what went wrong, how it went wrong, and then move on. Patient deaths are part of the learning process, and in medicine, physicians are the perpetual student. We can never stop learning - not just because our field is ever-evolving, but also because that is what will ensure that we are the best possible physicians we can be.

In the end, I know what will carry me through such an experience is the fact that I am a good doctor. I’ve been trained well. In all the stories I’ve read about medical mistakes, there was always a very specific point where the doctor made a poor judgment call. A bad decision. But we are all human, which means we’re prone to make mistakes. We don’t have any control over that. What we do have control over is our relationships with our patients. How we treat them as patients – as people – will make a huge difference in their medical treatment. That is what will help us make the right judgment call. The right choice.

It's about having heart. And at the end of the day, I know that I have a good one. I care. That is ultimately what will make me a good doctor. And even good doctors can make mistakes.

Burnout

We are NOT alone. We are not alone in medical school, that is. Even though it devastatingly feels that way sometimes.

I was going to write up a post somewhat related to this, but hey, the New York Times is a million times better than an incoherent sleep-deprived student.

It's an interesting read. Medical Student Burnout and the Challenge to Patient Care.

Miss Independent (part II)

A sequel to the 5 Friends campaign:



All the famous kids are doing it. You should too. Get out there and vote.

Highlights:
"I can do anything - I was in a boy band." - Justin Timberlake
"I'm going to vote because I fell in love...and I want it to matter." - Neil Patrick Harris

Speaking of which - to the kids in California - vote NO on prop 8. Seriously. That thing's messed up. Because sure, in real life, love itself may be difficult and messy at times, but the bottom line is simple. At the end of the day, you want to be able to love whomever you want, and marry the one you love. God knows love is hard enough without having to get politics involved. And really, why is politics even butting in? It's like the awkward third wheel on a date. Totally unwanted and just completely ruins the mood.

So vote no. I promise you - actually, I guarantee - the sanctity of marriage will not be destroyed. So just say no.

I'll get off my soapbox now. But whatever you believe, get out there and vote. It does matter. You matter.

Dream on

I had the strangest dream last night.

I was in my house (or at least what I thought was my house) in California. And my two sisters were there, along with the family dog. My parents had seemingly been replaced by Sam Neill and Laura Dern (or maybe I should say, Dr. Alan Grant and Dr. Ellie Sattler since they were in full costume). And we were trapped in the house with a giant purple and green scary-looking dinosaur. (I know I said purple and green, but you should think this, and not this.) Anyways, I was essentially in Jurassic Park.

Now, Jurassic Park is scary, okay?

I was trapped in a house with this blood-thirsty dinosaur. And all we had were tranquilizer guns. And we shot the thing a million times before it finally keeled over. Still alive, but down. Funny thing is, while everyone else stayed and watched the dinosaur sleep (or whatever it is that it was doing), I ran through the house trying to find a way out. But eventually, I knew that inevitably the dinosaur would wake up, and for some odd reason, I went back to the room where everyone else was. And we waited for the inevitable. Because the only way to get out of that situation was to attack.

I woke up in a pile of sweat.

And I realized - I think I might be getting a little worried about this unit. I am after all, a week behind. And this one week's worth of material seems disproportionate to all the other weeks' material. I am behind by nineteen lectures, eight case studies, and a million and one powerpoint slides. Adding to my stress is the fact that today is the last day of hematology. Tomorrow we start oncology. One week of material was an entire subunit! Seems impossible, but true.

So I should probably stop puttering around, and attack that clotting cascade monster that is waiting for me. It's inevitable, and there's no other way out.

(UPDATE: It is also possible that the boyfriend's snoring reminds me of dinosaurs' roars in my unconscious state, and that's what set off the whole dreaming of Jurassic Park thing, but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.)

Cup of life

On my six-month anniversary date for the boy, I took him to go paint some mugs, for various reasons:

1. He desperately needs something other than glass beer steins and dainty teacups to drink strong coffee from. Coffee that makes you grow hair on your chest. Coffee that shocks you awake. Coffee that deserves a proper coffee mug.
2. He's very artistic - a fantastic cartoonist - and too much of our time has been spent indoors studying.
3. Because I wanted to.

So I present to you our mugs - preglazed and pre-baked. I'll be able to pick up our final project next week...but for now, here are the Before pictures.

Here's my cup. (Yes, I got some help from Martin, because clearly, I cannot draw stick figures to save my life.)

And here is the Boy's. (I guess his mug is very, um, erm...creative?)

More pictures from the rest of the day to come!

Say my name

At the beginning of the year, I really wanted to make friends with my new classmates. I was not going to be a wallflower. I was going to go out there, introduce myself, and say hello. Sure, there were college meetings and afternoon classes and morning classes, and eventually I got to know maybe ten people pretty well that I could have a five-minute conversation without turning into someone with Asperger's Disorder, but that was only ten people. All my new friends. Ten. I could count them all on my fingers! No toes required!

So I went to a post-test party. Mind you, I am so not the partying type. But I went anyways. And bought a coke - but told everyone it was a rum and coke, because you know if you're not drinking an alcoholic drink at a post-test party, you're technically not 'drinking' drinking - just so I could be cool and hang out with the in crowd.

Yes, I'm twenty-four years old, but that peer pressure's still so strong, I can make a diamond in a cave.

Anyways, I put myself out there and Made An Effort. I made jokes, moaned about questions on the test, shook my fist at that one guy who scored a 98%, and introduced myself. And this is how it went:

Hey - I'm sorry, I don't think I know your name...I'm Michelle.
Hey Michelle. I'm Matt. And you do know me.
What?
You know me. You were in charge of my patient perspectives group.
Really?
Yeah. But forget about it.
No, really! What semester were you?
2nd...so yeah, we didn't see each other that much. But - not to call you out or anything- but there were only eight of us.
...oooooh. Oh crap. I DO remember you!

So yeah. I'm a little gun shy now with the whole introduction thing. In my defense, I was barely around, and all of 2nd semester was kind of a blur. I don't remember much of it. Or really, any of it.

But anyways, the point of all this is to tell you that I'm realizing that I'm still The New Kid. We're now a week into our third unit, and I'm still that weird girl who sits in the back of the classroom. I'm the strange face in the crowd of familiars. I'm the quiet wallflower that fades into the background. And I feel that it's too late in the game for me to be introducing myself now. That window of opportunity has passed. The train has left the station. You get what I mean.

I will acknowledge that it is my fault. I got gun-shy. So what's a girl to do?

Well, this girl is looking up all the kids in my class on Facebook, and memorizing names and faces. I might be a stalker, but hey, at least it works.

Pumpkin eater

And just for equal measure, here's a pumpkin carved hot dog! Or, as the creator named it, "The Halloweiner!" Hee. Some people are so clever.

...

Yes. I'm a little obsessed with pumpkins. Especially at this time of year.

Sway (part II)

Heart! What is wrong with you?! I thought we've been over this already. You are fine. You do not have mitral valve prolapse. In fact, the echo came back PERFECT. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are fine.

...

So why am I blacking out for no reason during PEX? Again?

I feel like an idiot. An idiot student who can't stay on her feet during a freaking routine physical exam. What must the patient think?

Misery business

This past unit has been a doozy. It's been four weeks of memorization hell. Drugs, neoplasias, immunopathology, genetic disorders, connective tissue disorders, drug metabolism, drug excretion, drug absorption, and so on and so forth. There have been so many equations and trivia flung in my direction, it's no wonder that my brain feels like it's been beaten senseless.

Three hours ago, I was high on adrenaline, high on anxiety, high on sleep deprivation. Every single muscle, and seemingly every single fiber of my being, was tense and on alert.

They don't call it the fight or flight response for no reason.

Three hours ago, I was taking one of my dreaded unit tests, and oh, I was fighting hard.

Fighting to remember which chromosomal abnormality caused that specific genetic mutation, which antibody was present in that version of lupus, and what lesions were present in the kidney.

And it was hard. I mean, there was math and long division, and units that didn't match up correctly. There was lots and lots of conjuring up images of notes, trying to remember which drug did what, and what drug caused this or that, and which drugs worked with that other drug.

And now, three hours later, it is over. Gloriously and wonderfully over.

I couldn't sleep last night, because my mind was racing with everything I had memorized. And now, I wouldn't be able to tell you how to calculate a dosing rate or a half-life, even if I wanted to. Those equations are out of my head. Those facts that I've painstakingly assembled over the past four weeks, have flown out the window and are gone forever (or at least until I memorize them again).

But it's over. I might not have done all that well, but at least it's over. And I'm now lying in bed, completely and absolutely relaxed. Without a care in the world. Watching ABC's Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. This is the life.

The sad thing is, in less than an hour, I have to get back up and start that whole school routine all over again.

Yes. Because in less than an hour, I'll have to be in my seat for afternoon class so that I can learn how to perform a thyroid exam correctly. How to assess for all those thyroid diseases that we were tested on this morning. Hashimoto and Graves' and all that wonderful stuff.

And then tomorrow, we'll start a brand new unit and the memorizing will begin yet again. Yay endocrinology and hematology/oncology.

I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Funny face

Oh the election campaigns are finally making me laugh. And it's not because of some crazily ridiculous thing that Sarah Palin said, or the outrageous claims that are coming out of both camps. Seriously, watch the videos below for some good old-fashioned smiles and giggles. Obama and McCain address all those negative comments and ads they've been throwing at each other, and it's pretty freaking hilarious. Who knew Obama and McCain would be so willing to poke fun at themselves?





Those speech-writers, or whomever wrote those jokes for them, definitely deserve a raise. Or a tax break. Whatever their respective campaign platform calls for. From Obama's "I love the Waldorf-Astoria - I hear from the doorstep, you can see all the way to the Russian Tea Room!" to McCain's "Oprah Winfrey calls him The One, but as a friend and colleague, I just refer to him as That One" both of the politicians were personable and funny, and it was just really great to see.

Silver lining (part II)

I got a package yesterday.

Wrapped in bright blue tissue paper and a giant bow, it was my belated birthday present to myself. It was my coat that I had drooled over and spent endless time debating whether or not to get, before I did eventually give in and plunk down my hard-earned government-loaned money.

And there it was! With the big brown buttons! And the cute collar plus bow!

Except it wasn't.

The middle button was the only one with an amber jewel. And while it looked charming on the original design, in person it looked like the other buttons' "amber accents" had fallen off and been misplaced with these huge brown things that didn't really match. And there was no structure. The heavy wool winter jacket I'd been expecting was actually more like a lightweight fall cover-up.

But though my excitement was dampened, I still had hope that it would be totally cute. So I tried it on.

Now, I've never worn a burlap sack before, but I imagine this must be what it looks like.

The jacket made me gain twenty pounds, in all the wrong places. The arms were too short and I looked as though I were pregnant or smuggling watermelons. Smuggling something. I have no idea what the material is made out of - supposedly "wool" - but it made me itch as though I had a bad case of lice (which, I haven't ever had, but again, I imagine that is how it must feel like).

Needless to say, I'm going to have to return it.

But hey! They sent me a free gift with purchase! Something that was "mind in china." Awesome.

(Seriously, I swear that's what it says at the bottom. I'm even posting a picture to prove it.)

Oh the best part? I went back to the website to see how to return my coat, and then I found out that they had restocked...and the coat is now available in my size. So now I have to decide if I want to return it or merely exchange it. My head is about to explode with all the back and forth. Cute bow and buttons! No, it looks like a burlap sack! But maybe it only looks like a burlap sack because it's in the wrong size! Exchange it! Return it! And so on.

Again, I should really be studying. Or sleeping.

Joke's on you (part II)

See, this is the proper way to make an AIDS-related joke.

Beauty in walking away

I was studying at Argo today. This was my study buddy.

Look at how huge it is! Needless to say, I had to high-tail it out of there, even though I was in the groove and getting lots of productive studying done. Because I hate spiders. Detest them. Abhor them. Rather they be dead.

Especially gigantic, as big as your palm, spiders.

Yuck yuck yuck. So gross.

Joke's on you

Are you kidding me?

Nigerians are finding a new way to glamorize HIV. Oh, not the AIDS-causing HIV. HIV - the acronym that says: “H is for happiness and joy forever with an I: Incomparable love that will never V: Vanish until death do us part. I love you.”

Apparently, it was in a book targeted at text-sending fiends in Nigeria. A book so popular that several people are getting texts saying, “I swear, I will make sure I give you HIV."

I don't know about you, but forget acronyms or so-called new ways to say I love you. I'd much rather just hear those three little words - no matter how simple or cliched they might be. I don't want you to say that you want to give me HIV. No matter what you mean for those letters to stand for, HIV equals AIDS in my book and I don't approve of people trying to change that meaning. Especially given in a country where HIV/AIDS is so very prevalent, and its hard enough to just properly educate people about it. Sure, the author claims he's helping tongue-tied lovers find new expressive ways to declare their romantic intentions, but he's also obscuring what HIV really is.

Did you know that in South Africa - the rural parts at the very least - HIV+ men believe that if they have sex with a virgin, they'll be cured? You won't believe how many young girls I saw at the hospitals, who were tricked into thinking that they were doing a good deed, and raped. By their uncle. Or their "respected" neighbor. I saw girls as young as four come in to the hospital due to internal bleeding. It was absolutely disgusting. The worst part is, because it is so rampant, the social workers can't do anything.

And now, you're telling me that there's a book out there. A book telling Nigerians that HIV doesn't stand for a terrible and deadly infection. No, it says that HIV is just another way to say "I love you."

HIV is not a joke, and it's upsetting that this man is making a profit by telling impressionable young adults that threatening to give someone HIV is just a fantastic way to tell someone you love them.

That's the real joke.

Honestly, if you want a novel way to tell people you love them, go back to the old pager code of 1-4-3. Make what's old, new again. But don't equate HIV with love.