Knock, knock

The other day I had my physical examination class on the female breast and pelvic exam (you know, the one for Pap smears).

Yeah, it was not the most comfortable thing to do, but surprisingly, that was not the most awkward thing that happened to me that day.

See, our college got split up into two groups - the second group consisting of only 4 girls. Seeing as to how we had to wait an extra hour before we could go in and work with the standardized patients, we each got to go in separately so that we could perform the entire exam by ourselves. It was our reward for having to wait, they told us. Really, I wouldn't have minded having a partner, or joining a different two-some in the earlier group, but this really isn't part of the story.

After I finished, around 6:15 or so, I went back into our original classroom to pick up my laptop and messenger bag and go home. There was another class in there, and the door was locked, so I was forced to knock.

A student let me in, and the teacher turned to me and barked, "What do you want?"

"I'm so sorry, I was in the earlier class and I left my bag in here," I apologized as I made my way to my seat.

But once I got there (I sit in the very back, because I'm a slacker student like that), my bag wasn't there. Puzzled, I hesitated, and the teacher pounced. "You are disrupting my class," she said angrily - for no good reason, in my humble opinion - but before I could apologize again, she continued, "Are you the pink girl?" The students in the class tittered, and it was clear she had made some disparaging remarks before I even came into the classroom. "Um, yes, I suppose so," I replied, thinking that pink earmuffs and a scarf probably did make me A Pink Girl. "Well then, they moved your stuff into the hallway." "Oh, okay. Thank you, and I'm sorry again," I replied, and starting making my way back to the front. All eyes were on me, and I blushed red with embarrassment as I edged towards the door. I thought that was the end of it, but just as I was about to leave, she turned to me and spat, "How can anyone take you seriously as a med student with all that pink?!"

The class laughed openly.

I hesitated, confused as to why I was being so openly attacked. I had never seen this instructor before in my life. I've never hurt her or kicked her dog or keyed her car or given her any reason to hate me. That day, I was wearing all black under my white coat. There was actually no evidence that I would be a girl who wore pink. And it's not like I wear earmuffs along with my gloves and scarves when I go see actual patients - if that were the case, then I would completely understand why she would be skeptical of my patient-physician abilities, but as it is, she was totally out of line. Yet, in the moment, I didn't think of any of this. I think I muttered something like, "Um, they just do" or something to that effect, and it wasn't until I walked out the door that my face stopped burning from embarrassment and started tooting red from the ears with indignation.

Seriously, why are there so many angry people in the world? I have no idea who she is - I don't believe she was teaching a medical class, and the students ranged from late twenties to early sixties, so I have no idea what class it was. But if I ever see her again, I really do think I'll give her a piece of my mind. Because her anger towards me was completely uncalled for.

There's no punch line to this story, sorry. I just wanted to vent and let it out. So there it is. And now I'm moving on. Unless I happen to see her again, of course.

Good vibrations

Apparently, if you ask, you shall receive.

Today, I found out that I got a scholarship that I applied for. It's not for much, but hey, in these times, every little bit counts, and I was ecstatic. Over the moon, in fact. I think the powers-to-be just felt sorry for me, considering that I alluded to the fact that my laundry desperately needed to be done. And how.

Then, I went to school, and found out I had died and gone to PBL heaven. Ladies and gentlemen, we have the most awesome PBL room ever. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake and Navy Pier. The nicest receptionist and secretary ever, whom promptly showed us where the juice and soda and tea and coffee were located. This is prime PBL real estate!

And to cap it all off, after getting some good studying in - enough to feel good about myself - my phone rang. It was my doorman, telling me to come home.

"Good afternoon, Miss Michelle. This is Ray the doorman. I just wanted to let you know that you received some flowers today, and I can't think of anyone else in the building more deserving of them."

Yeah, they really do call me Miss Michelle. It's quite sweet and old-fashioned, and I like it a lot. But I like secret surprise flower deliveries even more.

So, anyways today was a good day. Today was lucky.

See, today is my little sister's birthday. And she was born on a Friday, to top it off. And even though my three-year old self had begged my mother for a little sister, once she actually came, I wanted to get rid of her. True story, I put her in the recycling bin. See, even then I was quite the environmentalist. But I digress.

Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, today was a good day. And it's characteristically always been a good day. Thirteen is lucky. Too bad it wasn't an actual Friday though! I might have won the lottery or something.

Touch me, tease me

Oh the things I learn in school. Today, our 11am lecture was about female sexual dysfunction. And our professor was this very sweet, mellow, slightly older woman. She does couples counseling and so, throughout the presentation on dyspareunia and hypoactive sexual disorder, she would tell little vignettes about her patients.

This story, though, brought the house down with laughter. Women really are complicated creatures, and sometimes, men just don't understand.

Doctor
So what brings you in today?

Woman
Well, sex is painful for me.

Man
...And I don't understand why.

Doctor
Well, tell me - what is your process?

Woman
[clearly a little embarrassed]
Well we kiss. And then we touch. And then that sets him off, so we go at it.

Doctor
And what's the timeline on this? How long does that take?

Woman
Maybe five, ten minutes?

Doctor
Well, even though that might be enough time for him, you might need a little more time to get aroused and allow for sufficient lubrication to occur...which may be why you're experiencing some pain.

Man
Oh she's aroused! How can she not? See, I do everything this book says to do. [He pulls out the aforementioned book, to the amazement of our lecturer, who claims that it had various post-it tags marking certain sections.] For instance, it says to touch her here, and I do.

Woman
[timidly]
...but I don't like it.

Man
So clearly, there must be something wrong with her, right? Can you help us, Doctor?

Ah, a perfect example of why going by the book isn't always the best option. Figuratively and literally.

But perhaps the funniest thing was after class, as we were putting away our books and walking out - to the library, to lunch, to wherever it is med students disappear to - I overheard one of my classmates asking a friend, "Hey, do you think it'd be weird for me to ask our lecturer what book it was that patient was reading?"

Grillz

Martin
[writing an email to Omar]
Yo man, sorry to be all up in your grille yesterday --

Michelle
[email-eavesdroppin']
Um...do you mean grill? G-R-I-L-L?

Martin
[speaking in patronizing manner]
No, a grill is what you cook on. A grille - with an e - is the front-end of the car, and so when you put grilles in your mouth, it's like the front-end of your face. That's all up in your grille.

Michelle
Dude! How about The Capital Grille then huh? That's spelled with an E. It's a restaurant.

Martin
Maybe it's for cars.

Michelle
A restaurant for CARS?!

Martin
Look at the definition for grille from Merriam-Webster!

Michelle
When you Google "up in your grille" - they ASK if you mean "up in your grill." OOOOH, who's right now!!!

Martin
But a grill is like a barbecue grill. How does that make any sense?!

Michelle
Because it's like you're cooking at the barbecue, and someone comes over and tries to tell you how to cook the steak, and you're like, DUDE - stop getting all up in my grill! Why don't you go cook over there?!

Martin
What?!?!

Michelle
Yeah! Who's right now?!?!! OOOOOOOH.

--
According to Nelly, the correct spelling for those diamond teeth appendages/retainers is grillz. I'm still convinced its "up in your grill." Martin, of course, being a man, refuses to believe that he is wrong and thinks it's "up in your grille" when really, that's way too sophisticated of a spelling to be used as a retort.

One step at a time

It's almost 2am, and I'm wide awake.

Mind you, thanks to my jet lag or mono or anemia, I've fallen asleep at 9pm for the past week, and now here I am tonight. Wide awake. My pulse is racing, my brain's on overdrive, and I'm lying here, silently freaking out.

Tonight, I scheduled my testing date for the United States Medical Licensing Exam STEP 1.

See? Even the name sounds intimidating.

Forget anatomy and sensitive physical exam skills. Forget the pomp and circumstance of the white coat ceremony. THIS is the initiation into medicine.

This one exam will determine where I end up for residency. My specialty. This one exam is going to make or break me.

And I can't fall asleep because I'm so worried it's gonna be the latter.

June 23rd is looming. Eight hours. One test. And the rest of my life.

With arms wide open*

I apparently just can't catch a flight to save my life.

Two weeks ago, as I frantically threw clothes into my luggage, hoping that somewhere in the mess I had remembered to pack my glasses and toothbrush and enough underwear to get me through the break, I shook the Boy awake and asked him to do me a favor.

Or maybe ten favors.

Since I was bound to miss my flight if I didn't leave at that exact moment, I begged the Boy to clean out the fridge for me and take out the trash. Sleepily, he agreed, probably unaware of the nastiness and green-molded over rice that was waiting for him.

I came back to Chicago a couple of days ago, to find my bed made and my room sparkling clean. And there, on my bed, were all of my stuffed animals, waiting for me.

That boy sure knows how to throw a welcome home reception like nobody's business. Even if the only people present are me and twelve stuffed animals.

*Say what you want about Creed, but in high school, this song was on everyone's playlist, and sure, maybe I sung along to all the soaring choruses and this might be one of those instances where I'm talking and revealing way too many embarrassing details about myself again so I should stop. But in defense of my musical preferences, they did win a Grammy for this song back then, so if I have bad taste, so do all the Grammy voters. Yet, I do find it extremely amusing that if you Google "worst band in the world," Google shows results for this very band. Poor Creed, but still, I laugh.

Unfold

Given last year's New Year's Eve festivities (fireworks! marinas! sushi! apple cider with strawberries! falling stars!), this was not at all how I expected 2009 to start.

Last year, I wore my sparkliest top and splashy 2008 eyewear for a night out on the town. This year, I wore a hospital surgical mask, and spent my night at home, hacking up my lungs.

Granted, 2008 was the longest and the hands-down winner for worst year of my life. Sure, there were some good moments, but the bad far outweighed the good. And seeing how 2008 started off so promising, only to crash and burn and then burn some more, maybe it's a good thing that I'm starting 2009 this way. After all, the only direction from here is up!

Here's to a year full of joy and laughter. May our lives be lifted up with hope and the promise of change, and may all our hard work be rewarded with goodness.

My resolutions this year? Laugh more, worry less, and work damn hard.

Happy New Year everyone. 2009, don't let me down.