I'm flying to Connecticut because I procrastinate.

A few days ago I realized that in my ultimate act of procrastination I had yet to sign up for the MCAT I'd planned on taking September 8.  Typically, premed students are advised to sign up at least 6-8 weeks in advance, but because this will be the second to last test date of the year, I'd been told to sign up as soon as I could.  I've previously been told I exhibit somewhat of a type A personality who has everything together, but in this instance, I pushed back my decision for months.

In May, I planned on taking the exam in September.  I could have signed up then, but since I wasn't sure about my study plan, I pushed back the decision of dates.  In June, I submitted my two week's notice to the doctor's office where I was employed to allow ample time for studying.  In July, once I'd settled on a date,  I debated whether to sign up to take it in San Francisco, near my home, or in San Diego, my home away from home.  But I couldn't bring myself to book the test.  Maybe it was a little bit of denial: if I don't sign up, it won't happen, and if it doesn't happen, I can't fail.  Either way, when I realized I needed to sign up for this test if I intended to take it this year, I logged into the website and attempted to view all the remaining California test dates.

There weren't any.  At all.  "Ok," I said to myself, "check neighboring states."  None.  None in California, Oregon, Washington, or Nevada for the end of August or September.  The nearest I could find was Arizona, but since I knew I'd have to travel for this exam, I put that state on the back-burner.  I began checking through states where I had relatives, one at a time, until I found one where I knew I'd feel comfortable, and I could easily get to the test center.  Where, you ask, am I taking my MCAT?  Connecticut.  A mere 2,991 miles from my home.  Not exactly ideal, but definitely going to be just fine.  My best friend lives in New Haven, and there's a test center 10 minutes from her apartment.  I immediately called her, and she welcomed me in, volunteered her car, and offered to do anything she could to help me do well.  What a blessing.  Now, five weeks away from possibly the most painful exam I'll take, I'm finally registered for the MCAT, my flights are booked, and I'll be squeezing in a bit of a vacation afterward.  Maybe that's the silver lining to make up for the complicated stress-ball that came from a little procrastination.  And maybe next time I'll learn my lesson and work to maintain my type A reputation. 

A quick shot of us in front of an AMAZING New Haven restaurant.  Yum!

Uncle Gilbert

I remember distinctly the text message I received telling me he had leukemia, and that I wasn't allowed to tell my best friend.  It was four days before Christmas 2009 and she'd be home in less than 36 hours.  The next few days were filled with a whirlwind of to-do lists to finish shopping here and deliver jam there.  We all stepped up so mama Millie could mother him.  She was by his side every moment she could be in those first few weeks.

The presents were purchased and wrapped, the jams delivered, and Christmas went on with a video camera in hand so he could watch it a few days later from his hospital bed 15 miles away.  The next year included so many trips to and from the hospital I can barely count them all.  My sole job was to guard his house.  In my trek to and from school, I passed his humble home.  I watched the windows to make sure no one had attempted a break in.  I examined the lighting to verify that the automatic timers were turning on as planned.  I mentally measured the amount of weeds and gardening that needed to be done, and called when it became too much but also when it had disappeared.  I was the tattletale when he'd been doing too much.  It was ok.  For more than a year.  And then it wasn't.

He was discharged from the hospital during the second week of March even when nothing was back to normal.  According to his doctors, there wasn't much else they could do at that point.  I couldn't understand.  There's always more treatment, more drugs, more something.  But sometimes that more truly makes life less worth living, as was believed for him.  Mama Millie spent the next four weeks doing anything and everything with him.  They drove everywhere they could just for him to see it.  She even ate McDonalds, her arch nemesis, because he wanted a burger and a Diet Coke.

Two days ago, he lost his fight.  He'd been doing so much better, even to the point where I'd stopped worrying and started to regain hope.  He started not feeling well, and the family gathered around him at the hospital as he finally surrendered.

Thanksgiving 2010 - he's down in front

He's the reason I'll donate bone marrow, should I ever match.  I've been told that it's the most painful thing one could imagine and that anesthesia is forbidden because it affects the harvested cells.  I'll donate anyways and happily, and in my mind it will be for him.  He didn't have a match.  No one had a chance to help physically save his life.  And as a result, a really good man is gone.

He never married, so didn't have a wife or children of his own to spoil.  Instead he took it out on his nieces and nephews, including me, the extra one.  He didn't care that I wasn't born into his family, or even that I wasn't officially part of it.  He cared that I was around.  He spent his time caring for those he loved and asking for nothing in return.  The injustice of his illness when terrible people live much longer lives makes me sick.  But until I call the shots, I can simply remember the man he was and pass along his legacy to the "other ones" around me.

Valentine's Day

Today is the day that men dread and women mark on their calendars the second they purchase them in early November.  This happens to be my 23th celebration of this dreaded holiday, and so far it’s the best.  I’m spending it doing what I love.

I don’t have a boyfriend.

No one is buying me flowers or chocolates.

I don’t have a group of friends for “girlie night”.

And yet, I’m content.

This week is chock full of midterms and this upcoming weekend I have a family vacation, which serves as the most stressful weekend of my year.  This year, I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack for the last three weeks simply at the mention of this forthcoming chaos.  Tonight I’m spending the evening having a romantic candlelit dinner with my pathophysiology textbook.  Did I mention that the candle will be on the other side of the room so I don’t knock it over, and that my microwaved Lean Cuisine lasagna is a far stretched from the five-course gourmet meal I was promised?  Oh.  Must have forgotten that part.

Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve sacrificed holidays for school or work.  Thankfuly this time, I’m completely satisfied with my decision.  That is, unless you know any availabe and attractive men who aren’t threatened by a completely overbooked and overworked woman.  In that case, I’m free, and I’d appreciate it if you’d pass along my number.

At a Slug's Pace

To complete my master's program I need to write a thesis.  To write a thesis I need research.  To do research I need a lab, and to have a lab I need an advisor (referred to from now on as PI, or primary investigator, who frequently serve as professors in fine universities such as my own).  Three weeks before Christmas, and two before finals, my PI informed me that in a few short months, he will be packing up his belongings and moving across the world to the far away state of Texas.  Had anyone else shared this news, I'd offer to buy them a pair of cowboy boots to help the aclimate to their new environment.  However, I was less than overjoyed to hear it from him, since it also means he'll be packing up his frogs - the necessary tool for my research thus far.

I spent the Christmas holiday labless, which in the science community is not far away from being homeless.  And then these little cuties were introduced into my life. Tritonia diomedea. That's science 

C'mon.  Tell me this little guy isn't cute.

for slug.  He eats sea pens and can only move by contracting in half and letting the water whisk him away from impending doom.  I'm now the wandering grad student, floating from lab to lab, trying them all on for size and creating a massive pro-con list.  I've moved from a state of anger and frustration about wasting 8 months worth of work on frogs and allowed my heart to be softened.  I've accepted the challenge of passing my knowledge on to the less qualified classmates.  In the process I've suddenly found the community I've been searching for.  Others are treking through the same unknown I am.  Does my experiment actually work?  Will I get any data? And if I do will it mean anything? How long will I be here?  How long can I afford to be here?  My eyes have been opened to students who have been here for 4 months and those here for 4 years.  Some have set up the lab with their PI, and others have skated by on simply taking pictures and comparing them.  Either way, we all have stories of our adventures here.  We know each other's labs and the crazy hours that constitute our schedules.  We all know the treachery of grading undergraduate lab work.  We all know the struggle of failure, and are constantly fighting off the call of defeat.  We also all know the local coffee shop and bakery (probably too well).  We know the quickest route to Tahoe for a weekend of letting off steam.  We know there's someone to listen to our whines.  And we know we're all in this together.  I'm not alone in my journey anymore.