Piano man

More evidence that my friends are so cool and so amazing. I often find myself in their presence with my mouth wide open, speechless and just completely in awe of their talents.

I present to you -- Mike Chan the Pianoman! Who is also a first-year pediatrics resident! I have no idea how he has time to do everything. Again, my friends are amazing.



And just so you know, not only have I performed numerous Disney songs with him, he also wrote me an original composition for my birthday. This will be my claim to fame one day.

I can't wait for him to be discovered. Oh, and hey, Mike? I need to get that thing signed and authenticated.

Skidamarink a dinky dink

There's always been a lot of buzz about the movies coming out of the Sundance Film Festival. Last year, it was all about Blue Valentine. And this year, there are probably some really cute indie romantic dramedies coming our way too (apparently Like Crazy has audiences going, well, like crazy, over it). But the movie that I'm most looking forward to seeing? Being Elmo.

It astounds me that Kevin Clash - a tall, deep-voiced African American man - is the voice of Elmo. He looks like he could belong on the gridiron on Monday nights, yet he's apparently also the voice of our favorite monster on Sesame Street. And he does it so well. I am amazed that he hasn't become a bigger celebrity. After all, Elmo has become the most famous of the Sesame Street gang, but this may be the first time I've ever heard of Kevin Clash. When we think of Elmo, we don't think of Kevin Clash, we think Elmo. Which just goes to show that Mr. Clash has done his puppeteer duties perfectly. Elmo has become his own entity. Even in the video embedded below, where you can clearly see Mr. Clash speaking as Elmo - I still gravitate directly to Elmo.  Elmo is so clearly his own little being. Belief, suspended. A cute little red monster full of love who always speaks in the third person. "Elmo can see her!" Elmo makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

I really do love Elmo. Elmo is love, people, Elmo is love.

And this will always be my most favorite Elmo video ever.

Never say never

So Justin Bieber really is everywhere these days, isn't he? From taking Disney princess Selena Gomez on public dates to IHOP to hawking things like lip gloss, it makes perfect sense that he's on seemingly every billboard, his infectious music playing over every commercial. I mean, he is the person who single-handedly brought back the bowl cut. Stock in blow dryers has skyrocketed thanks to him. For all we know, he is the reason why the economy is slowly getting better.

Then I saw this. Mind you, it was huge so that my eyes really just went to the largest letters on the billboard.

I must admit that I freaked out for about thirty whole seconds, before I read it more carefully and realized it was an ad for PETA.

Because see, on first glance, I mistook U SMILE for USMLE.

Oh man, that cued up some god-awful feelings I have for taking boards. And then I couldn't stop wondering if Justin Beiber was trying to sell some kind of USMLE Qbank, guaranteed to get you high marks on all of your licensing exams.

Seriously, could you imagine?

Heartbreaker, pt 2

Two days old, and still the cutest thing ever.

Heartbreaker

Isn't he the cutest? I guess that's what being half Japanese, a quarter Irish, and a quarter Vietnamese will get you.

JKL. January 21, 2011. 7:01PM, 6lbs, 9oz. Super cute.

Seriously, that smile slays me every time. Happy birthday, Jack! Totally worth the 28+ hours at Prentice.

Busted

I've decided that if I ever do end up writing a book about how the hell I finally made it through medical school and into psychiatry residency, I'd title it Committed. That's all. It's short and pithy, but better yet, it's got that always sought-after double entendre. So I'm just putting that out there, as a sort of placeholder.

Because if you read Michelle Au's blog at all, you'll see that again - terrible things happen to nice people. Someone stole her book cover design. So let's have the nice people finish first for once. Go pre-order her book; her writing is fabulous and funny and insightful, and I can't wait to get my hands on my own copy. And then, if you're a vindictive person like me, go trash the other. Because I read the other person's blog and it is terrible. So terrible that I'm convinced that if that author can get a book deal, anyone can.

Also, will post pictures of the cutest baby ever after the family email has gone out. Because no one should scoop the parents! But trust that he is the most adorable thing in the world.

No good deed goes unpunished

Being nice gets you nowhere.

A couple of days ago, I was fifteen minutes late to a morning conference, because I helped an old lady get to the Emergency Department after I saw her slip on a patch of black ice and fall in the middle of an intersection. So after I helped her limp to the ED, I rushed over to my conference. I sneaked into the back of a very dark room, closing the door behind me so quietly, that I highly doubt anyone even realized I had joined the group. Anyone minus the speaker, whose impeccable night vision immediately saw me and directed everyone's attention to me as I was berated for being late, lecturing me on what the definition of being professional is. (Answer: not being tardy for very important case conferences. His very important case conferences.)

I wanted to talk back and ask if he understood the definition of empathy. Or compassion. And I really wanted to know what exactly was pumping his blood around his body since he so clearly lacked a heart.

Instead, my Amy Chua Tiger Mother upbringing made me bite my tongue, as I stood there and just took it. Yes sir. No sir. Never again, sir. I'm sorry sir. No sir. Yes, I am a piece of scum, sir.

Today I was on breast imaging. And a strange pattern seemed to emerge within a few hours of reading ultrasounds and mammograms. The patients who were mean and nasty to the support staff and techs were the ones who ended up having benign masses. On the other hand, the patients who couldn't have been nicer or more understanding of why we were behind schedule, were always the ones who ended up with the BIRADS score of 5 or 6 - highly suspicious for cancer.

Here's one for the books. Forget smoking. Forget alcohol. Being nice is the worst risk factor for all disease states.

Geek in the pink

I'm on a total book fix these days. I just can't get enough. I stop reading only to go to my required radiology clinical duties and for sleep, but otherwise I'm reading up a storm. I just finished The Book Thief - which was absolutely beautiful and touching. You know how for those thicker novels, you start to skim paragraphs, reading-comprehension-test style? Not for this story - I read every sentence, drinking in every word, every nuance, like a cactus in a desert. A beggar at a buffet. A tween at a Justin Bieber concert. You get the idea.

I read half the book in one sitting, before realizing that the faster I read, the quicker the ending loomed. And I really didn't want it to end. I didn't want to leave this marvelous world. So I started rationing out how much I was allowed to read each day. One chapter a night. Ten pages. Two. And then, before I knew it, I had come to the end, with only blank pages left to thumb through. It made me smile, it made me laugh, it made me cry, and it really made me appreciate life and all the words within it.

Anyway, that was a lot of exposition for this: I need another book to read. So as any sensible person in want of a book would do, I went to the bookstore (never mind that said bookstore was located next to the electronics section of Target), where I stumbled upon this.

The back reads thusly -

Once upon a time, there was a young psychiatrist called Hector who was not very satisfied with himself...And so he decided to take a trip around the world, and everywhere he went he would try to understand what made people happy or unhappy.

Combining the winsome appeal of The Little Prince with the inspiring philosophy of The Alchemist, Hector's journey around the world and into the human soul is entertaining, empowering, and smile-inducing - as winning in its optimism as it is wise in its simplicity.

1. The main character is a psychiatrist.
2. It's being compared to The Little Prince, my all-time most favorite book. (The English version.) (My apologies to Mr. Kirkeby, my beleaguered high school French teacher who could never get me to stop speaking Franglais long enough to fully appreciate the beauty of foreign literature. Or rather, never got me to understand enough French words to fully appreciate French literature. One day. But not really.)
3. Smile-inducing? In the ever-succinct words of Buddy from Elf, "I just like to smile - smiling's my favorite!"

Are you serious? It's almost as though this book were written just for me!

So this is what I'm reading now. I've made myself a cozy little reading nook: my warm humidifier acting as an apartment-approved replacement for an open fire, turtle chair donated by one GirlFromHawaii, and plenty of hot cocoa in a pink space princess mug.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Who did you think I was

LISA

Ready for dim sum?

ME

Yup! When are you getting here? I might try to get in a quick workout.

LISA

Whoaaaaa, working out?  Who are you and what have you done with Michelle?!?

ME

Hahaha, yeah. I have to go on a post-interview diet/work-out plan. I've gained so much weight, you won't recognize me.

LISA

Uh, I saw you two days ago.

ME

Stalker! Wait, oh right.

Sound of music

I can't believe it's been 10+ years. I think we all look the same, more or less. The most amazing part is how well everyone's done for themselves; from working for THE Social Network itself to designing the different Google themes to (almost) finding the cure for tuberculosis, my friends are all sorts of amazing.  It makes me feel a bit like a slacker, to tell you the truth.  What have I done in the past 10 years?  School.  And that's about it.

Ten years ago, we were all just some goofy, geeky-looking, orchestra nerds.

Man, I miss those days.  They were pretty fan-freaking-tastic.

How to save a life

I tell all of my interviewers that I want to go into academics, because I love teaching. Because I'm a great teacher. Because it's fulfilling and so gratifying.

I lied.

I mean, not completely. I do want to pursue a future in academics, because I do want to teach. Because it is gratifying and fulfilling. The lie is the "I'm a great teacher" part.

But it was unintentional! I honestly thought I'd be a good teacher. And then I started my teaching selective.

Five first year medical students. And me - the supposed "all-knowing" fourth year. And it was vital signs. How hard could it possibly be? As the last student shuffled in, his white coat crisp and the whitest it will ever be, I started. But I didn't know exactly how to.

ME

Awesome, so we're gonna be learning about vital signs today! And they're the most important thing in the entire physical exam. That's why they're vital.

THEM

[obligatory laughter]

ME

So, can you guys tell me what the five vital signs are?

Five. I pulled that number out of thin air. I didn't even count them before I said it. So as they shouted out their answers - some right (pulse!), some redundant (heart rate!), some wrong (lung exam!), I kept my fingers crossed that we would get to five.

Yet, after they mentioned temperature, pulse, respiration, and blood pressure, we couldn't come up with any more, and I was having a brain freeze and couldn't think of anything else or even if there was another thing. [Full disclosure: There is another thing, called O2 saturation, but I totally forgot all about it.] So I improvised. "Right, so there's temp, pulse, respiration, and blood pressure has two values - systolic and diastolic! And that gives us five values! Perfect."

They all ooooh-ed and muttered, right! under their breaths, marveling at how intelligent their fourth year med student was.

One crisis averted. Even if I did feel like a complete and total fraud. I was feeding them absolute bull crap. Only they had no clue.

We then moved on to listening and finding blood pressures. I gave them my spiel about how it's hard to find the first time around, so I wanted them to be completely honest with me if they weren't hearing anything.

So the first student went. And as luck would have it, he couldn't find it. He had found the brachial pulse, the stethoscope was in the bell position, and the ear pieces were in correctly. So why couldn't he hear it? We grabbed the double-headed teaching stethoscope and tried again, both of us listening simultaneously.

So we pumped up the cuff. I saw the deflection in the mercury. I knew what the blood pressure was supposed to be. But I couldn't hear a dang thing. Not one single sound, except my own heart beating furiously in my ears. I haven't had to find a blood pressure in years, thanks to nurses and the automatic machines. And now I couldn't hear anything.

So I did what anyone else would do in that position. I lied.

The cuff deflated. I pulled the stethoscope out of my ears. "Did you hear it?" I asked the student, praying to the high heavens that even if I hadn't heard it, he had. "Um, no," he replied, his ego deflating as fast as the cuff, "Man, I suck." "No no! Let's try again," I replied, not knowing what else to say, as his self-esteem plummeted.

So we pumped up the cuff again, my hand on the stethoscope.

He started letting out the air, and once it hit around 116mmHg, I started tapping on the stethoscope head, my lying hand finally still at about 70mmHg.

"Oh man! I totally heard it!" my med student crowed, tearing off his stethoscope, completely exhilarated, face beaming and red with excitement.

And in that moment, I felt a little less terrible for my deceit. Because, hey, he'll hear it sooner or later. And if not, well, that's why they have those automatic machines.

Still though, I'm a terrible teacher. Great at telling and enhancing little white lies, but a terrible teacher nevertheless.

It only hurts when I'm breathing

The chief resident looked at me, his eyes warm and full of understanding, as I genially told my story as part of the pre-interview dinner conversation. My story about how my grandfather, even in his quite biased opinion, knew that I was a terrible singer at a young five years of age, and had forced a violin into my hands, telling me to make the violin sing instead. And amidst the laughter after I reproduced my five year old falsetto, I could feel his gaze burning a hole into my sleeve. So I turned to look at him. And while everyone else was laughing, he looked at me and quietly commented, almost whispering, "I read your personal statement."

I just nodded. But that one phrase had so much meaning in it. He knew.

My face must have given me away.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. Again, quietly, so the others wouldn't hear.

I nodded again. The smile stayed on my face, fixed and unfaltering, but with that simple standard phrase, I could feel my expression starting to crumple around the edges.

Every interview I go to is another test of composure. A hard lesson of learning to keep it together. During my Southern California interviews, my parents would get so frustrated with me, when they picked me up at the end of an interview day. Because they would inevitably ask me how it was, and besides the obligatory "it was fine" response that I would give, I always needed at least an hour or so for myself, for me to process and hide my emotions, before I could talk to them about what they wanted to hear. How many residents, how much call is there, what the pay is like, did the program like me, did I like the program, etc. And I wouldn't want to talk about that right away.

Because at every interview, the programs always ask me about my year off. About my grandfather. About his death. About how he has inspired me.

And as I talk about him, frankly, openly, honestly, I'm more than aware that I'm scratching off that scab that is bereavement. Stabbing at it. Yanking it off. And then, my wounds lie open, bleeding with reminders. And the more we talk about him, the saltier it gets.

But I keep it together. My voice might quiver occasionally, but with a quick clearing of my throat, all is back on track.

Tonight though, halfway through my flight, in my 6C Southwest seat, as I stared out at the rain creating rivers in the blackness of sky framed by my tiny airplane window, I felt my own tears come streaming down my cheeks. Mirroring the window. Maybe it was the book I was reading - a story narrated by Death himself. Maybe it was overhearing the conversation between my seatmates and finding out that she had flown back to Texas to bury her cousin who had been killed in the war. Maybe it was because I had interviewed with the best psychotherapist in the nation and my interview had turned into a therapy session of sorts. Maybe it was just the weather. Something broke, and I found myself weeping.

But whatever the cause, it was cathartic. And even though I couldn't stop the onslaught of tears, couldn't prevent my shoulders from shaking, when it had all quieted down, I sighed with relief. Relief at the release. Relief that my seatmates were all sleeping and no one had witnessed my break in composure.

When grief comes knocking, it never ever really leaves you.

Two more interviews to go.

Your kind of girl

DAVE

Hey Eddie, Michelle is asking me to holla at her the next time we go on a chi cafe run.

EDDIE

Haha, sure thang. She's hardcore, I don't mind eating in the trenches with her. She can eat the real shit.

DAVE

True dat.

EDDIE

(to me)

We respect you.

DAVE

Yes. You've been accepted into the secret underground [society name redacted for fear of punishment]. This was voted on by executive members.

ME

HAHAHA! I don't know whether I should be flattered or ashamed.

DAVE

FLATTERED! FLATTERED, DAMMIT. NEVER ASHAMED, MICHELLE. NEVER FEEL ASHAMED!

ME

Hahahahaha!!

DAVE

Oh by the way, did you hear? Taylor Swift and Jake Gyllenhaal broke up.

These guys crack me up. Also, maybe my New Year's resolution should be to rein in my eating habits.

Times like these

I love weddings. Weddings make me tear up and grin like an idiot.  My favorite moment? When the church doors open and the bride's standing there, resplendent in all her ivory and lace, holding on to her father.

Or rather, her father holding on to her. The dad's face is always what gets my tear ducts going. Because it's so clear that he's remembering the first time she held his hand, the first time she walked. The first time she said "dada." His little girl is getting married. A new chapter is starting for her, but one giant chapter of his life is dwindling down to its last few scenes.

That moment is also the moment when the groom sees his future wife for the first time. And I love love love seeing all the emotion in that one glance. Because inevitably, no matter how many "first looks" the photographers have staged, that moment is the real deal. And if the groom tears up, it's a surefire bet that my eyes are glistening too.

I went to my first friend wedding a couple of days ago. Sure, I've been to my share of weddings in the past, but they were always family friend weddings. This was my first friend friend wedding. And the fact that it was my high school orchestra's stand partner's wedding was huge and nostalgia inducing. We were gangly and awkward and poking each other in the eyes with our bows just yesterday! Or at least, it seems like it was just yesterday. Weren't we just playing octets and quartets and trios and ending the Wedding March in a minor key at other people's weddings? It seems like just yesterday that we were making up bus ride games and singing Backstreet Boys and Moulin Rouge at the top of our lungs as we recreated scenes from Sound of Music, playing our way through Austria and the rest of the European countryside. I can still remember our senior retreat, as we played practical jokes on each others' cabins, until it all ended with cake on everyone's faces, silly string everywhere. And it seems like just yesterday he was picking me up for prom, in the dinkiest and dirtiest Honda Civic ever, my poofy pink dress barely fitting in the car.

Somehow along the way, without any of us knowing it, we grew up and became adults.

[The girls on our last night in Europe, in 2000]

It was a gorgeous day for a wedding. And an even more beautiful day to catch up with old friends. I can't believe it's been ten years. We all grew up much too fast.