Why I Stink

The blogposts about my travels are going to be on hold for a while.  I would love to write more about them, but I simply, honestly, truly don't have time.

I started medical school on Monday, and I do not want to miss the opportunity to write about that.  Also, I no longer have anywhere near as much time as I did.

Since it's Friday, I'll do Seven Quick Takes about Medical School, in honor of Jen at Conversion Diary.

-1-

I'm in medical school!  I have this realization every few hours and think once again how very lucky I am.  My dream is happening, and it's wonderful.

-2-

Medical school is hard.  

This semester, I am taking Biochemistry, Developmental Anatomy, Gross Anatomy, and Histology. This translates roughly to: 

Biochemistry - 

Chemistry on steroids and chemistry OF steroids,

Developmental Anatomy (aka "Devo") - 

A Baby Story: the Little Blastocyst That Could, 

Gross Anatomy -  

There are twelve thoracic vertebrae.  Each has two costal facets that articulate with the ribs.  These sit superior and anterior to the pedicle and lamina, which form the intervertebral fosamina, through which run the spinal nerves.  The greater dorsal nerve runs distally to the suboccipital triangle, made of the rectus capitis posterior major muscle, the obliquus capitis superior muscle, and the obliquus capitis inferior muscle.  The transverse process of the atlas runs laterally through the triangle, just inferior to the vertebral artery and the suboccipital nerve.
Didn't know this?  Neither did I, two days ago.  

Histology (aka "Histo") - 

SO MANY CELLS.  400 CELLS.

-3-

The medical students I've met are uniformly brilliant, dedicated, and hardworking.  It's fun to be in class and know everyone there cares just as much as you do and is studying every bit as hard.

-4-

Much of what I learned in college about how to learn is wrong.  Well, it's right if you're studying math.  But it's not right if you're studying medicine.

Studying math is like trying to uproot a tree.  You have to know the layout and understand the theory of trees and think really hard and have the right tools, and then in a burst of effort, the tree comes out.
Studying medicine is more like finding that 10,000 weeds have popped up in your yard.  You work really hard and pull up all the ones you can find, trying to get the roots out but not spend too much time on any one.  The next morning, there are 10,000 weeds in your yard...

So I'm not doing as well as I thought I would.  My brain is honed to learn mathematics.  I'm counting on the flexibility of the human brain to let me rewire things posthaste. 

-5-

Being allowed to dissect a human cadaver is a supreme privilege like no other.  It's a tremendous honor to be allowed this form of intimacy with this person's body that even she never had.  

It's also a fantastic way to learn.

-6-

Being allowed to dissect a human cadaver makes you reek.  I've dedicated a set of scrubs and the lab coat they gave us to just gross anatomy lab.  When I'm not wearing them, they live in a sealed trash bag in my locker at the school.  

I don't think I can do much to get that smell out of my hair, though.

-7-

Medical school is taking my life from me completely.  I've abandoned hobbies, down time, and socializing to keep up with it.  

But I can give up those things.  I just can't give up medicine.  It's an easy trade.

Have a good weekend, everyone!

A Little Penguin's Hard Choice

Hello!

As promised, here I will tell you what happens when we run out of medicine.

But first, giraffes!

The third day we were in Galana Ranch, our host arranged a treat for us after work.

So after we finished clinic for the day, our group piled into our Land Cruiser and Land Rover and set off across the African savannah.

One of our noble steeds

Looking over the top of the truck

We drove off the road for at least fifteen minutes with the general feeling that this was going to be a long, disappointing trek of nothingness while we were hungry and tired.  We saw a few DLA's and maybe a rabbit, but that was it.

Suddenly, the oldest Kenyan guide peered at the horizon ahead and shouted something to the driver.  The driver turned the truck away from the mountain and began cautiously steering the truck through the brush.  Occasionally we would stop and the Africans would peer intensely at various places on the horizon, then we would set off again.

I couldn't see anything.  There were a few tan-colored boulders up ahead, but nothing terribly exciting. 

Then one of them moved.

What I thought were boulders were elephants.  Massive, gentle, and beautiful, they stood in a group and eyed us warily.  A group of zebras stayed with them.

We even saw ostriches!

Here we were, deep in the African savannah, on safari.  There was one more animal in particular I wanted to see.  The elephants and zebras and ostriches had been so amazing, more than I'd ever hoped to see in my life. 

But I wanted so much to see a giraffe.  By this time, it was getting dark, but our guides decided to show us one more place where we just might see some wildlife.

We drove to a sheltered area near the mountain, and there they were.

Our pictures barely turned out, but we saw giraffes.  They were gorgeous, graceful, and timid.  They generally did not let us get very close to them, sauntering on as a herd whenever we approached.  But they were spectacular, and I'll never forget how they looked in the waning evening.

Later in the trip, we got up early before clinic and detoured to a spot on the river where hippos were known to congregate.  We kept our distance; hippopotamuses kill more people in Africa every year than any other animal.  One of our group recalled seeing a video (which I can't find right now; sorry) of a hippopotamus absolutely demolishing a Jeep.

These pictures use a lot of zoom; we were not this close.

This was an amazing way to start our last day of clinic.


Our last day of clinic ended on a much heavier note, however.

The last day of work at any given place on a medical trip like this involves some heart-wrenching rationing.  We cannot see everyone.  We moved into aggressive triage, where the nurses would send only the most complex cases to the doctors.  Most people were simply given vitamins and pain medication and a kind smile.
When we no longer have time to do even that, we each grab several packages of vitamins, parasite medication, and Tylenol and start giving them to people. Nothing could have prepared me for the reality of holding this medication and having to choose who it went to.  The ten-year-old or the sixty-year-old?  The sick baby or the nursing mother?  The working father or the growing child?

This is what happens when we run out of medicine, and it's heartbreaking.

On the way back to Malindi from Galana Ranch, one of the sweet young ladies on our trip got to talking with our guide, who told her that the whole Galana region was going into drought and devastating famine. 
Shocked, she looked up. "So what will happen to those people we saw?"

"Many will lose everything they have, and many will die." 

I'm a bit glad I only learned this after we left, not while we were still meeting people and playing with the beautiful children.  But this still haunts me after nearly two months.  I try to remember that we improved these people's health and gave them the best possible chance to withstand the famine.  At the end of the day, however, I simply have to offer up a prayer for them and try to get some sleep.

Next time: the last of Kenya and walking into a whole new world.

The Little Penguin and the Poor Goats

Hello!

I have a bit of free time, so I'll proceed to write about our first week in Kenya.  We spent the first few days traveling.  British Airways treated us with the typical British courtesy.  It was the best treatment I've ever received on an airplane.  They brought us tea.

Tea!

Kristi, Pingu, and me on the airplane

This thing was on the back of the seat in
front of each passenger.  We could watch as
our plane passed Greenland, or crossed into
England.  Awesome.

Finally, we arrived in Kenya.  I definitely had to remind myself that this was not Houston, Texas.  We were in KENYA.

KENYA.

I kept thinking things along the lines of, "Whoa, we are in Kenya, guys. Like really really.  This is Kenya. See that tarmac? That is Kenyan tarmac..."

Our team was split into two groups.  My group (of about fifteen: two doctors, two nurses, four medical students, and various administrative people and translators) left Malindi and traveled to Galana Ranch.  Malindi is along the eastern coast, so it's lush and green.  But Galana Ranch is further west into the savannah, and that area was rather dry.  

We traveled in a mutatu, which is a safari van.  We were told it would be a two-hour drive, roughly.  I failed to anticipate that "two-hour drive" does not mean two hours of interstate highway.  It means two hours of this:

(Not our photo)

It was fun, nevertheless.  I kept looking around, as we left the city and passed into native villages with mud huts, and thinking that this was very nearly the "human wild-type".  Human beings are thought to have evolved in Africa.  It was really interesting to "get back to our roots", so to speak.  

Eventually, we arrived at our tent camp.  Galana Ranch is a government-owned game preserve, containing something like 1.6 million acres of land.  The administrative area has a dispensary for the park employees, which is where we would be working.  Several tribes live in the preserve, and we saw mostly people from those tribes.  

Every day, we drove about 40 minutes from our tent camp to the administrative center.  We rode in the back end of a Land Cruiser, which was bumpy but afforded us a great opportunity to talk and get to know each other.  

Wazungu in the back of the Land Cruiser

We also got to see plenty of wildlife.  We saw so many impalas, dik-diks, and similar creatures that we took to calling them DLA's: deer-like animals.

Two DLA's (deer-like animals)

We also got to see warthogs, monkeys, and lots of birds.

We ate all our meals in the house of a local official named Jerma.  He treated us like kings in every way, even bringing in a nationally-renowned chef to cook for us.   

The second day, the tribe we were treating was so grateful that they gave us two goats in thanks.

We ate goat stew with rice, chapatis, and cabbage for lunch and supper every day we were there.  With meals and in the afternoons, they brought us chai tea made with goat milk.  We were all very, very tired of goat stew (and of African food in general) after the third or fourth time, but still felt like honored guests.  The natives might only have meat once or twice per month.  In their kindness, these people provided our group with roasted, stewed goat twice a day for a week. 

Jerma's house was along the Galana River, and the views were breathtaking in every direction.

The first day we arrived, while waiting for lunch to finish cooking, they called us over to the river's edge.  The park guards went right down to the bank and began whistling and beating on the bank with a fresh goat skin.

A few feet offshore, something began moving in the river.  They pointed it out to us, and told us this was the mamma, the second-largest of the family.

She approached frighteningly fast, climbing up the bank.  They threw bits of goat skin to her, which she eyed carefully and snatched in a lightening-fast motion.

They even gave her whole legs, which she crushed with her jaws and swallowed.

They called her Mrs. Gibson, and she was an African crocodile.  Her legs, as you can see, are so powerful; she could propel herself up the bank in no time at all.  

Her mate and baby remained in the river for the most part, but this amazing "calling of the crocodile" was repeated almost every day.  We eventually saw all three crocodiles come up the bank at different times.

We waited safely on a rock outcropping during this display.  None of us got very close to the river.

The medical work was the most memorable part of the trip, however.  We had to work through translators, sometimes one who translated English to Swahili, then another who translated Swahili to the tribal languages.  Most of the complaints were very similar: muscle and joint aches from carrying heavy loads (and heavy babies) over long distances, parasites, infected wounds or bug bites, and sinus problems due to the smoke from indoor cooking fires.  We gave them what we had and arranged surgeries in Malindi where we could.
I spent most of my time taking vitals.  But I also got to float, working wherever people were piling up. This enabled me to see the pharmacy work, the blood tests, and the doctors' work.
Dad eventually took to calling me the "Rocephin Queen" because I gave so many injections of Rocephin, a powerful antibiotic.

Thanks to some dedicated mentors, I learned more medicine this trip than I ever have on a mission trip.   I got to listen to a fetal heartbeat and feel the baby's head.

Dad showed me a case of elephantiasis.  Elephantiasis is an incredibly rare parasitic disease in the United States, so much so that most physicians will never see a case of it in real life. Luckily, it's easily treated.

Elephantiasis in right leg

Probably a parasitic infection.  This
parasite may or may not have ever been
described by modern medicine.

These are people from the tribe waiting after being seen
to walk back to their village.

We treated a lion bite.  The man inadvertently herded his goats into the lion's territory.  His back had some deep scars where the lion attacked him.  The locals said that if the lion had wanted to hurt him, he'd be dead.  Apparently, the lion only wanted to give a warning.

Next time: giraffes, and what it means when we run out of medicine.

Thanks for reading!

The Adventures of a Little Penguin

Jambo, good day, bonjour, buon giorno, and hello!

Thank you for all the good wishes while I was traveling.  It meant so much to get to leave with such encouragement and support.

One of the objects of my time abroad was solitude, so I corresponded very little with anyone and posted nothing here.  But now that I am back, I hope to write a bit about where I was and what I saw.  I hope to provide those curious with the stories and pictures.  I also want to share my experience and advice with anyone who plans a trip like mine.

Here is where I went.

Where I Went:
(with medical mission team from Lubbock, Texas)
June 4 --- Home - Dallas, Texas - Houston
June 5 --- London, England - Nairobi, Kenya
June 6 --- Nairobi, Kenya - Malindi, Kenya
June 7 --- Galana Ranch, Kenya
June 8 --- Galana Ranch, Kenya
June 9 --- Galana Ranch, Kenya
June 10 --- Galana Ranch - Malindi, Kenya
June 11 --- Malindi, Kenya
June 12 --- Malindi, Kenya
June 13 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 14 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 15 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 16 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 17 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 18 --- Malindi - Nairobi - London
(with Dad and family friend)
June 19 --- London
(only with Pingu, my stuffed penguin)
June 20 --- London

Pingu at DFW airport

Pingu at Buckingham Palace during the Changing of the Guard

Pingu and Buckingham Palace

June 21 --- London - Portsmouth, England - Caen, France
June 22 --- Caen - Paris - Lourdes, France
June 23 --- Lourdes - Nice, France
June 24 --- Nice - Ventimiglia, Italy - Genova, Italy
June 25 --- Genova - Rome, Italy
June 26 --- Rome
June 27 --- Rome
June 28 --- Rome
June 29 --- Rome
June 30 --- Rome
July 1 --- Rome - Milan, Italy
July 2 --- Paris, France
July 3 --- Paris - Calais, France - Dover, England
July 4 --- Dover - London
July 5 --- London - Houston, Texas
July 6 --- Houston - Dallas - Home

All told, this is a distance of about 36,000 kilometers, roughly 4000 kilometers short of the circumference of the Earth.  I am not, of course, in the running for "furthest distance in a single trip".  That belongs to those who flew to the moon, which is nearly 400,000 km!

My dad and I laughed a good deal over our boarding passes:

According to British Airways, I am Sarah, WORLD TRAVELLER.

My grand overseas adventure was actually two separate trips, put end to end.  The Kenya trip was a medical mission trip organized by Monterrey Church of Christ in Lubbock, Texas.  We spent two weeks providing medical care to the Kenyan people.  This trip alone was life-altering.
In the months before the trip, I noticed that our connecting flight was through London.  I began to think about postponing our trip back and spending a day in London with my dad.  This evolved into spending a couple more weeks in London after that.  At the suggestion of my mum, this then evolved into traveling about Europe. It seemed silly to pay for the flight across the Atlantic Ocean and then never do anything.
Thus, a solo trip through Europe was added at the end of the Kenya trip.

I hope to write about everything I saw and did.  But for readability's sake, I will plan to break the account up into more manageable pieces and post it a bit at a time.

So this is where I have been.  I picked up words in four languages in four weeks and saw bits of culture and history that blew my mind.

Next time: Kenya, Galana Ranch, and extensive musings on stewed goat.

Furlough

Hello, everyone.

Starting this Friday, I will not be posting much here until I return to the United States in early July.  I am a bit terrified; prayers are greatly appreciated.

However, I would like to say a few things before I leave.

I'm a Catholic.  It feels very strange to stand out so sharply from all the people back in my hometown.  It feels very strange to see old acquaintances at Mass, wondering if I should say something explanatory or just let it slide.  It feels very strange to rush in late to my parents' church's service, fresh from Mass, just trying to be quiet (and to not genuflect or cross myself at any point).

A gentle peace has come over me.  Normally, going back to my parents' house is very difficult for me. It tends to draw me into an immaturity I thought I'd left behind. It's been a bit easier this time, though.  Going through with my conversion, an act so blatantly contrary to their wishes, has set me free in many ways.  Graduating has probably helped as well.  In ways I don't begin to understand, the grace of the Eucharist seems to almost carry me.  I'm not sure why I'm surprised; that's what the Sacraments do, after all.  I wish so much I could give that grace to the people I love, but I can't think of a gracious way to say it without watering it down.

I remain as convinced as ever that this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.   It's a strange state of thankful incredulity.  Such a wonderful gift has been given to me!  Why has the Lord God chosen this, and this to me?  Why me?


Now, switching gears completely...

I am getting quite incredibly excited about my birds.  I am planning to get one or two parakeets when I get back.

These are parakeets:

They are also known as budgerigars, or just budgies.

Budgies are incredibly social animals, known to form deep attachments to their lifelong mates. They are very intelligent creatures with a sweet disposition.

Originally from Australia, budgies in the wild live in enormous flocks.  Despite their highly social nature, among themselves they are purported to have no pecking order or sense of rank.  This is highly bizarre to me, as I've never known a species that had no sense of rank.  Dogs, cats, most birds, and even humans do.

But anyway, I love birds very, very much.  Budgies are easy to care for and make good first-time birds.  I plan to eventually have at least two, as a solitary budgie will probably be unhappy. (Keeping one is not too awful, if you can provide the many hours' worth of daily social interaction the birds require.  If you have two, however, they are much happier and do not rely on you to act as their flock.)

So yes, I am very much looking forward to having goofiness of this nature in my abode next year.

Please say prayers that we are all safe!  God be with you.

Rotation

Today I'm studying at the library and will be pretty much all day.

As the moments I have left in college wind down, the worth left in each one seems to condense.  They all pass with a deep thump of some significance, and I feel the time slipping away acutely.

This was supposed to be the best time of my life.  Is it really just downhill from here?  If this was the best, where do I go from here?

All my life, I was raised to look towards college like many girls look towards their weddings.  When I came home sad because I'd been snubbed at school, or when I opened with, "Guess what, Mom?!  Guess what we learned!!!", I was always comforted and encouraged with,
"Wait until you get to college."

And it was magical in every way, completely full of all the things I'd wanted it to be.  (I had hoped to be planning a wedding at this point.  But that was not to be, and probably for the best.)

But now it's over.  Where do we go from here?

Soon it will be finished, and then I'll feel it all slip away.  When it's gone, I'll look up and try to figure out where I am and what's left.  But I don't want to move on a minute too soon.  As long as I'm still here, I want to keep it close and cherish it.

It's a precarious balance, but I feel nothing else will do.

I've been thinking about the song I linked a lot today.  For some reason, it seems appropriate.  It's about the end of Eva Peron's life, when her illness leaves her of little use to her husband and political partner, Juan Peron.  Thank you for giving me a chance to say the things I was concealing.  God be with you.

Raindrops on Roses, Whiskers on Kittens, Bright Copper Kettles, Confession

Today I went to Confession for the second time.  I know, I just went before Easter.  But I feel I should err on the side of more frequently, at least at first.  I am still a young penguin in the faith.

(Really I just wanted an excuse to put a baby penguin on my blog.)

The two times I've been to Confession, it's been a profoundly beautiful experience.  I've dreaded it both times, waiting in the line with my heart pounding.  Both times, I've left with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

The examination of conscience does a lot.  I think through my life, going over the Ten Commandments guide in my booklet, and try to think about the times I'd rather forget.  It's a process of opening myself up, and every new memory of sin that emerges crushes me in its own small way.
But in the weirdest way, being crushed bit by bit is wonderful.  I find a quiet rest in realizing that I am not good, but God is.  Comparing myself to God during an examination of conscience produces both the painful realization of how base I am and the glorious realization of how good God is.

Then I drive to the church and wait in the chapel.  That is, I look up at the crucifix, with images of the stations of the cross all around me, and hold a list of my sins in my hand.  I know what is about to happen; that's why I drove across town to be here.  I'm about to be absolved of my sins.
But in those quiet moments, it sinks in how and why and by Whom my sins are forgiven.

Both times, the priest was nicer than I had expected.  Maybe he's just bored, but he's kind and patient and does not reply, "You did what?!?!" or "Oh, is that all?" He may be making faces at me behind the screen; I do not know.  At that point, I do not care.

Then he gives me absolution.  But the priest himself does not forgive my sin.  He also gives me my penance.  But my penance does not forgive my sin.  Jesus Christ forgives my sin, and as I left the confessional, I was once again overwhelmed by the mercy that had been shown me.  At that point, little is on my mind except, "Thank You.  Thank You.  Thank You..."

And then I do my penance, and I have just received one of the Sacraments of the Catholic Church.  I've been humbled by my penance, thinking, "But Jesus was crucified for me.  All I have to do is ____?"  But in God's wonderful way, it's not about me.  If it were, I might start thinking I'd earned it.  My penances have also both surprised me in how relevant and effective they were.  For example, this time, I was given a prayer by St. Augustine to meditate on.  The priest had no way of knowing that I'm named after St. Augustine and find his work inspiring.  Yet there the prayer was in my hands, reaching out to me and wrapping in new and beautiful ways around my soul.

We are Easter people and Alleluia is our song.  Let us sing "Alleluia" here and now in this life, so that we may sing it one day in the world to come, when we are set free.

How happy will be our shout of "Alleluia" as we enter heaven, how carefree, how secure from any assault, where no enemy lurks and no friend dies.

Advance in virtue, in true faith, and in right conduct.  Sing up!

 I wondered on the way in how I ever lived without Confession.  Confession is a "Catholic thing", but I'm starting to see the beauty of it, the benefits of it.  Far from tying me down to lists of my sins, Confession is so freeing.  It appears that God in His wisdom recognized that the girl who can't remember to take medication without helpful little boxes might need a Sacrament to remember His mercy.

I want this for my loved ones.  I'm toying with the idea of suggesting some of the aspects of Confession to my closest friends and family.  Even just writing down my sins is spiritually helpful to me.  Even just bringing them up is therapeutic.  I think confessing them explicitly to God would be beneficial, and knowing that the price has been paid for that sin, specifically, could be life-changing.  It has been for me.  (Of course, I feel there is an even better solution, but won't bring that up to them.)

In any case, I'm beginning to feel about Confession as Jen Fulwiler did: "I can't believe this is free!"

(I'm smiling now, because when I went to get that link, I noticed what else she said about Confession: I don't see how people live without the sacrament of Confession.  I'm glad I'm not the only one.)

God is good.