Shangri-La: a place of mystery & prestige that I thought would only be a passing visit for someone like me. I visited this place in the summer of 2008 and was so impressed by the people here and also the opulence of it all that it has been in my mind ever since. Yet, even as I filled out my application and hit the submit button, I considered this place to be out of my reach, my "reach/hope/dream" place. And so to get an actual invite to visit this place was... surreal.
2-21: Checked into the hotel and poured over my papers to make sure I remembered all the details. Then, a meet-and-greet and mingle with other prospectives as well as first years. This was very helpful as I got some fresh insight and advice from these people. My observation of the first years was that they were all relatively happy to be where they are doing what they do. They also all seem very intelligent and very distinct in their personalities. Dinner was at a local restaurant where two senior faculties were to join us; only one made it, and it happened to be the mentor that I worked with in the summer of 2008. I had expected it to be a bit awkward seeing Goba again, but it was quite the opposite. He was still the kind man that I met two years ago - he asked me who I will be meeting and gave me tips on them all.
The next morning, the air of casualness from the night before all but vanished as we sat in a conference room waiting for Ketu to arrive. Mounds of breakfast foods were available, but I didn't have much of an appetite. Ketu arrived, much the same way as I remembered him from before, poofy-haired and all. He gave us a brief introduction and then went on to tell us about the program, school, classes, etc. Hearing him talk about the curriculum actually made me smile. For so long I had wanted to learn about these topics in depth, but have only had the chance to skim the surface of these things, and now there is a real possibility of being immersed in it? I was the donkey and I could almost taste the carrot in my mouth.
Anil: a quiet man as I remembered. We crossed paths before but never exchanged more than a polite hello. I suppose we were both of the shy kind. He seemed reserved, asking me about my research and my background. We then talked about his research in autism and the animal model in his lab. Overall, this first interview did not give me the confidence boost I hoped for. He was very reserved and did not ask me any challenging questions, but we also did not get into the groove, i.e. back-and-forth, that makes interviews interesting and memorable.
Pabu: a magnanimous man with a booming voice and a booming personality to match. From what I've gathered the night before, Pabu is the no non-sense kind of guy who is also your everyday Mensa. My nerves were a bit high as we sat down to talk about my background. He asked if I had a strong background with qualitative coursework. "Um... Uh... Yes?" My mind blanked out on this question, of all questions. I'm sure he thought me an idiot but nevertheless, he continued on about how he dislikes easy problems. He wants nothing to do with problems that are easily solved; everyone can do them, so why should he be interested in it? What really gets his blood pumping are those conundrums that are seemingly impossible, the ones that people have tried before with no avail. Those problems are the ones that he will put his precious time in solving. I don't know if it was a coincidence, or if it was strategically planned for that day, but there happened to be a sheet of paper on his open desk of a pedigree. As an example of the problems Pabu likes to tackle, he pointed to the pedigree. It showed an Amish family with five or six generations. All generations were unaffected except for the last generation shown, where almost all of the individuals, regardless of sex, were affected by this condition. The question, he posed, is: what is the pattern of genetic transmission? "Um... Uh... .... Environmental?" Put under pressure, the only answer I could come up with was the typical answer that you give when you have no idea what the genetic causes are. If you can't explain it genetically, it must be environmental, right? Fail. As it turns out, there is an established genetic link for this condition, but the pattern of transmission is still unclear. That is why Pabu is interested in it, of course.
Senge: A substitute for the person that was put down in my itinerary, since that person was busy I guessed. Senge is a 3rd year international student, studying at Shangri-La on a scholarship from his government. He talked about how much he loves it here and how lucky he is to have this opportunity. I asked how he will adapt if should his project hit an impossible obstacle. His answer was so simple I was kind of embarrassed not to have thought about it before. To ensure that the final goal will be attained, make sure to have more than one project going at the same time! And also, work really, really, really hard. Duh! He seemed deeply content and totally in control of his work and future, and I admire him.
Zapa: To say that this guy's reputation intimidated me would be the understatement of the century. His credentials are miles long; his accomplishments/discoveries are nothing short of groundbreaking. So, when I learned that I wouldn't be meeting him alone but with the rest of the group, I was so relieved! Although there was a small part of me that wanted a one-on-one with Zapa to impress him, my overwhelming intimidation allowed me to completely forget about this loss. As proof of his success, Zapa's lab spans an entire floor in a building devoted to cancer research, which was a trek to get to too. It ended up being that everyone sat in a conference room with Zapa at the head. He more or less gave us advice on choosing a lab, mainly that we need to make sure it is a right fit. No mention of his research or his lab. Overall, I was relieved not to be in the hot seat with Zapa, but at the same time, I wish the meeting could have been more informative about him and his personality, i.e. would he be someone I could work with.
Kaba: From reading about him and hearing what the current students had to say about him, my expectations of Kaba were that he is your scattered-and-spacey-but-incredibly-incredulously-intelligent-scientist, i.e. your typical "mad" scientist. I expected him to be friendly and easy to talk to, as I'm also scattered and spacey myself. However, I left my meeting with Kaba with my eyebrows scrunched, my head cocked to the side, and a look that read: "WTH just happened?" It started out innocently enough as I was telling him about myself, and then somehow we got on the topic of the future of genetics. Kaba seems to think that the future of the field lay in proteonomics, which I politely disagreed, but not too aggressively; I was still being interviewed after all. It wasn't that our disagreement got out of hand, or that we outright dislike each other (I hope); it was just awkward and uncomfortable! The whole conversation that transpired was slow, disjointed, stop-and-go. It lacked the smooth back-and-forth that I was used to. And that really shook me up. It was the only interview where I left feeling like it did not go well.
Cimba: Given the way my meeting with Kaba went, I was a bit uneasy as I sat down to talk with Cimba. Cimba is very young, but very accomplished. He either forgot to dose up on his afternoon coffee, or had had a really long day, because his eyes looked so sleepy and tired. His style of interview was apparent immediately - he was there to answer my questions, and not the other way around. I shot out all the questions I had in my arsenal - nothing too special, just the ones I've thought of and that know would engage us in a little bit of conversation. I had the impression that he was a bit skeptical about me and my motivations, and I was doing my best to convince him otherwise, but the escort came and we had to end. I wish the escort had come one or two minutes later so I could explain myself better, but oh well.
Ketu: I come full circle, not only in the sense that I met him earlier in the morning, but I've also met him in 2008. This is the guy that could make or break me, so for the entire time I sat on the edge of the seat, trying to remember to breathe as I talk. I also get cold easier when I get nervous, and his office was drafty, so I was also trying not to shiver even though I was FREEZING! We went over the past, when I had visited in 2008, and the things I've done since then. He asked about my family background, and we went into a discussion about Vietnam and the horrendous nightmare that is traffic over there. He talked about his trip canoeing with his son, where the guide was a Vietnamese young man who carried a wok with him. I think at some point my shivering became visible, and Ketu looked bemused and offered me some tea. Trips and fun stuff aside, I really wanted to make sure he knew why I was here and what I wanted. Even if I didn't impress anyone else that day, I had to impress Ketu. I had to be sure that he understood my motivations and how badly I wanted it. He took notes on the flap of a folder through out the entire interview, and without glancing up at me he said: "I'm sure you'll do fine."
*** I'm pooped. ***
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
El Dorado
After arriving somewhat late on account of not finding the room right in front of my eyes, I came to a room filled with other prospectives presided by an associate dean. The mood was a professional, uncomfortable silence. We were briefed about the program, the location, the highlights, etc., all the bells and whistles that they had to offer. With not a minute to spare, I was whisked off to my first meeting by an assistant.
Bartholemeu Dias: Poofed hair, baggy & slouchy shirt, uni-brow, computer lost in the general clutter of papers and books; general appearance of a person absorbed more into work than in appearances. She looked to the ceiling when she spoke, as if imagining her thoughts forming above her. The only time she ever made eye contact with me was when I was answering her questions. After hearing my spiel about the work that I currently do, she questioned whether I agreed with the ethics of mass genetics testing. Is it ethical for a company, like mine, to give out genetics results to patients for complex conditions with medical implications? The ultimate goal for a industry laboratory is revenue. Yes, patients come first, but money must also follow the patient, or otherwise there is no company. That said, even though money is the driving force, there are ethical guidelines enforced by the government that all laboratories must follow. That is the reason for the validation stages that these assays must go through before being tested with actual patient DNA. That is the reason why there is a medical director presiding over the research and development projects before such tests are advertised to clients. That is the reason why there is a Quality Control and Assurance department. Every laboratory worth their salt has no choice but to comply with the prescribed guidelines. Of course my answer while on the hot seat wasn't so articulate (not to say this is articulate), but I made my point. After hearing my answer, Bartholomeu half chuckled and said: "Interesting. I guess I know where you stand." Good or bad I have no idea.
Francisco Pizarro: His office was way across campus, in it's own little building, with his own secretary. When the secretary opened the door to let me in, I felt as though I was reliving Harry Potter's moment when he first stepped into Dumbledore's office. This place had a quiet grandeur to it with light pouring in from the many windows. When I commented the nice sofa set he has in his office, Pizarro admitted that his office is "embarrassingly large." Similar to the way that Dumbledore's reputation precedes him, I felt myself trembling a bit as I sat down in front of Pizarro because I had read and heard so much about him. Yet, he couldn't have felt more comfortable and relaxed as he propped his feet on the coffee table revealing the ragged sneakers he wore that day. I, on the other hand, was in a suit sitting at the edge of my seat talking so intensely that I forgot to breathe. Surely he would grill me on both sides just to see what I was made of... surely so, I thought. Instead, he was just a most soft-spoken, mild-mannered, world-weary person to whom I talked of my background and experiences and motivations. We also talked of drunken fruit-flies and college freshmen, but that's another topic for another day...
Hernando Cortez: Again, a trek and a half across campus to this far-away office. Prior to my meetings, I prefer to do some research on the person who I'll be talking to. I do this in the hopes of increasing my chances of saying something intelligent and also reducing my chances of saying something utterly stupid during my meeting. Cortez does not have any relevant research background or information that I could find on Google, and not being able to find this out prior to meeting Cortez put me at extreme unease. Stepping into his office, I gathered why information on him was so hard to come by... he is newly appointed to El-Dorado and is just beginning to settle into his position. Cortez spoke with a thick accent; I'm sure I had my eyebrows scrunched during most of the meeting because I had to concentrate on understanding him. Background talks aside, we talked of new technologies and advancement in drugs. He educated me off on a few interesting things such as MDA-7/IL-24, and exedin-3 in diabetes. I didn't know it at the time, but these things have been published for quite a few years now, and I really should have known more about it while talking to him. Nearing the end of the meeting, I asked him why he chose the field of cancer genetics. Cortez smiled as if he had been anticipating my question for a while. He then pointed to a faded wallet-sized photo at the far corner of his desk.... his father. From what I can gather, Cortez's father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I couldn't hear well enough to learn if his father is still living or deceased, and I did not want to prod and make him uncomfortable. His father is his inspiration. Even if he could elucidate just a tiny piece of information to add to the knowledge of cancer research, he would make his father proud.
Vasco Nunez de Balboa: It's funny that man I've heard of and even crossed paths a few times before could make me so nervous. Maybe it's because we've never had a formal introduction, or that I've found him to be too intimidating that when it came time for me to formally meet him I almost didn't want to do it. His office moved from where I last knew it, to the dark and gloomy third floor where no one else goes. Also, his hair changed from when I last saw him (or maybe I just didn't pay that much attention). Actually his hair very much amused me; it looked like there was a stiff, gray brush in the shape of a fan on his head. Like Cortez, his accent is very heavy, though not the same accent. The conversation began somewhat patchy but progressed as I asked him some questions about why he does what he does. I get the feeling that he is a person that bores easily and is always on the lookout for that new challenge that no one else could figure out. Once he has figured out something the thrill goes away and he's on to something else. I also get the distinct impression that his teaching style is very laissez-faire, meaning he is very independent and would work well with someone else who is equally independent. His thoughts on types of researchers: horizontal and vertical. Horizontal types learn a new technique/method/assay/technology really well, and then apply the same technique/method/assay/technology to new problems. Vertical types learn about a problem/issue and figure out different technique/method/assay/technology to solve different aspects of that problem/issue. Which type is he? Vertical.
My day on the hot seats was exhausting not only mentally, but physically too from all that trekking around. At the end of the day I felt like I had been holding my breath all day long. Yet, I felt good. I had an unexplainable good feeling about the day. Good, bad, ugly, I had no idea, but I left all the interviews with a smile on my face.
Next visit: Shangri-La
Bartholemeu Dias: Poofed hair, baggy & slouchy shirt, uni-brow, computer lost in the general clutter of papers and books; general appearance of a person absorbed more into work than in appearances. She looked to the ceiling when she spoke, as if imagining her thoughts forming above her. The only time she ever made eye contact with me was when I was answering her questions. After hearing my spiel about the work that I currently do, she questioned whether I agreed with the ethics of mass genetics testing. Is it ethical for a company, like mine, to give out genetics results to patients for complex conditions with medical implications? The ultimate goal for a industry laboratory is revenue. Yes, patients come first, but money must also follow the patient, or otherwise there is no company. That said, even though money is the driving force, there are ethical guidelines enforced by the government that all laboratories must follow. That is the reason for the validation stages that these assays must go through before being tested with actual patient DNA. That is the reason why there is a medical director presiding over the research and development projects before such tests are advertised to clients. That is the reason why there is a Quality Control and Assurance department. Every laboratory worth their salt has no choice but to comply with the prescribed guidelines. Of course my answer while on the hot seat wasn't so articulate (not to say this is articulate), but I made my point. After hearing my answer, Bartholomeu half chuckled and said: "Interesting. I guess I know where you stand." Good or bad I have no idea.
Francisco Pizarro: His office was way across campus, in it's own little building, with his own secretary. When the secretary opened the door to let me in, I felt as though I was reliving Harry Potter's moment when he first stepped into Dumbledore's office. This place had a quiet grandeur to it with light pouring in from the many windows. When I commented the nice sofa set he has in his office, Pizarro admitted that his office is "embarrassingly large." Similar to the way that Dumbledore's reputation precedes him, I felt myself trembling a bit as I sat down in front of Pizarro because I had read and heard so much about him. Yet, he couldn't have felt more comfortable and relaxed as he propped his feet on the coffee table revealing the ragged sneakers he wore that day. I, on the other hand, was in a suit sitting at the edge of my seat talking so intensely that I forgot to breathe. Surely he would grill me on both sides just to see what I was made of... surely so, I thought. Instead, he was just a most soft-spoken, mild-mannered, world-weary person to whom I talked of my background and experiences and motivations. We also talked of drunken fruit-flies and college freshmen, but that's another topic for another day...
Hernando Cortez: Again, a trek and a half across campus to this far-away office. Prior to my meetings, I prefer to do some research on the person who I'll be talking to. I do this in the hopes of increasing my chances of saying something intelligent and also reducing my chances of saying something utterly stupid during my meeting. Cortez does not have any relevant research background or information that I could find on Google, and not being able to find this out prior to meeting Cortez put me at extreme unease. Stepping into his office, I gathered why information on him was so hard to come by... he is newly appointed to El-Dorado and is just beginning to settle into his position. Cortez spoke with a thick accent; I'm sure I had my eyebrows scrunched during most of the meeting because I had to concentrate on understanding him. Background talks aside, we talked of new technologies and advancement in drugs. He educated me off on a few interesting things such as MDA-7/IL-24, and exedin-3 in diabetes. I didn't know it at the time, but these things have been published for quite a few years now, and I really should have known more about it while talking to him. Nearing the end of the meeting, I asked him why he chose the field of cancer genetics. Cortez smiled as if he had been anticipating my question for a while. He then pointed to a faded wallet-sized photo at the far corner of his desk.... his father. From what I can gather, Cortez's father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I couldn't hear well enough to learn if his father is still living or deceased, and I did not want to prod and make him uncomfortable. His father is his inspiration. Even if he could elucidate just a tiny piece of information to add to the knowledge of cancer research, he would make his father proud.
Vasco Nunez de Balboa: It's funny that man I've heard of and even crossed paths a few times before could make me so nervous. Maybe it's because we've never had a formal introduction, or that I've found him to be too intimidating that when it came time for me to formally meet him I almost didn't want to do it. His office moved from where I last knew it, to the dark and gloomy third floor where no one else goes. Also, his hair changed from when I last saw him (or maybe I just didn't pay that much attention). Actually his hair very much amused me; it looked like there was a stiff, gray brush in the shape of a fan on his head. Like Cortez, his accent is very heavy, though not the same accent. The conversation began somewhat patchy but progressed as I asked him some questions about why he does what he does. I get the feeling that he is a person that bores easily and is always on the lookout for that new challenge that no one else could figure out. Once he has figured out something the thrill goes away and he's on to something else. I also get the distinct impression that his teaching style is very laissez-faire, meaning he is very independent and would work well with someone else who is equally independent. His thoughts on types of researchers: horizontal and vertical. Horizontal types learn a new technique/method/assay/technology really well, and then apply the same technique/method/assay/technology to new problems. Vertical types learn about a problem/issue and figure out different technique/method/assay/technology to solve different aspects of that problem/issue. Which type is he? Vertical.
My day on the hot seats was exhausting not only mentally, but physically too from all that trekking around. At the end of the day I felt like I had been holding my breath all day long. Yet, I felt good. I had an unexplainable good feeling about the day. Good, bad, ugly, I had no idea, but I left all the interviews with a smile on my face.
Next visit: Shangri-La
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Some thoughts on V-Day
My highschool use to have this cruel tradition that began at the start of every February. Either the PTA, or the Interact Club, or some other school club would buy a boat-load of carnations and then re-sell them at $1 each. The students buy tickets from these clubs for their friends, admirers, "significant" others... and the flowers get delivered to that person on February 14. The school clubs raise some money for their treasury, and the students get to feel special on Valentine's day. Win-win situation, right? Not exactly.
The whole situation inevitably turned into a popularity contest. The girl (or guy) who was most weighed-down with carnations that day was the envy of everybody else. Naturally every one wanted to be that person, though no one was vain enough to admit it. On the other hand, if you were some poor lad/gal who walked the halls that day with not a single carnation in sight... then you might as well have had a sign on your back that said "Loser."
Of course no one wanted to be that lonely person, myself included. With no boyfriend to coerce into buying me flowers, I took matters into my own hands. To ensure that at least one carnation would arrive, that on V-day I would be associated with some hint of a pink floral petal, and mostly, that I would not be grouped with the "loners" club, I made alliances with my friends. You see, they were also thinking what I was thinking, and so it made perfect sense for us to align our forces. I would buy them a carnation, and in return, I would get a carnation. Why go through the whole hoopla? Why not just buy myself the darn flower and call it a day? Well, because it's just not special if you buy yourself a flower, is it? Then, not only are you "lonely," but you'd also be "desperate," and that's a whole other level of sad.
Admittedly, I was rusty at the beginning of the whole process. I'd have trouble initiating the process, even though I knew my friends were all thinking the same things. But I got better every year, and by senior year, I was walking down the halls with a bouquet of carnations! I exaggerate, but I had enough flowers that it looked obnoxiously cumbersome. Mind you, I was never "that" girl with the flowers that everyone else envied; I was never that popular, and of my five flowers were essentially swapped deals! But... to some unsuspecting, naive freshman, I could have definitely passed as somewhat well-liked among my social group. If nothing else, then I would have not been associated with the "loners."
It's quite funny looking back on the whole carnation situation. That a single flower could have so much social significance is outrageously comical to an adult, but to a high-school kid, that single flower meant all the difference. The whole situation could have been a lot less stressful had I had a romantic somebody, someone who was with me in a way that obligated them to buy me the carnations without any swaps involved. Alas, that was never the case with me.
Even after high-school, and throughout college, I never had a significant other on V-Day. This was never a big issue I had, as most of my friends were also like me: single. We hung out on V-Day just as with any other day, and it was never blatant that we were without roses and chocolates and candlelit dinners. Although I never lamented being single on V-Day, the thoughts did cross my mind once or twice that it would be nice to have someone with whom to celebrate love. Flowers would be lovely, I thought.
Indeed, flowers are lovely.
You would think that after being with someone for two Valentines now, that I require, even demand, the requisite flowers. It is surprising then, even to myself, that I've come to view V-Day a lot differently now then I did back in highschool. Somewhere along the years, I came to the conclusion that V-Day is more a Hallmark holiday. I reasoned that real lovers do not need a day dedicated to celebrate love; truly in love people celebrate love every day. Furthermore, I, being the snob that I am, do not want to celebrate my love along with the rest of the world. After all, how could romance be truly romantic if every other couple were doing the same thing? I do not bash the holiday, as it is always good to have more love going around, even if the greeting card companies are behind it all. Love is so good indeed that it shouldn't be confined to one day out of the year.
It is quite simple. Above everything, above the carnations and roses... above all else, all anyone really ever yearns for is simply to be loved. And loved is what I am.
The whole situation inevitably turned into a popularity contest. The girl (or guy) who was most weighed-down with carnations that day was the envy of everybody else. Naturally every one wanted to be that person, though no one was vain enough to admit it. On the other hand, if you were some poor lad/gal who walked the halls that day with not a single carnation in sight... then you might as well have had a sign on your back that said "Loser."
Of course no one wanted to be that lonely person, myself included. With no boyfriend to coerce into buying me flowers, I took matters into my own hands. To ensure that at least one carnation would arrive, that on V-day I would be associated with some hint of a pink floral petal, and mostly, that I would not be grouped with the "loners" club, I made alliances with my friends. You see, they were also thinking what I was thinking, and so it made perfect sense for us to align our forces. I would buy them a carnation, and in return, I would get a carnation. Why go through the whole hoopla? Why not just buy myself the darn flower and call it a day? Well, because it's just not special if you buy yourself a flower, is it? Then, not only are you "lonely," but you'd also be "desperate," and that's a whole other level of sad.
Admittedly, I was rusty at the beginning of the whole process. I'd have trouble initiating the process, even though I knew my friends were all thinking the same things. But I got better every year, and by senior year, I was walking down the halls with a bouquet of carnations! I exaggerate, but I had enough flowers that it looked obnoxiously cumbersome. Mind you, I was never "that" girl with the flowers that everyone else envied; I was never that popular, and of my five flowers were essentially swapped deals! But... to some unsuspecting, naive freshman, I could have definitely passed as somewhat well-liked among my social group. If nothing else, then I would have not been associated with the "loners."
It's quite funny looking back on the whole carnation situation. That a single flower could have so much social significance is outrageously comical to an adult, but to a high-school kid, that single flower meant all the difference. The whole situation could have been a lot less stressful had I had a romantic somebody, someone who was with me in a way that obligated them to buy me the carnations without any swaps involved. Alas, that was never the case with me.
Even after high-school, and throughout college, I never had a significant other on V-Day. This was never a big issue I had, as most of my friends were also like me: single. We hung out on V-Day just as with any other day, and it was never blatant that we were without roses and chocolates and candlelit dinners. Although I never lamented being single on V-Day, the thoughts did cross my mind once or twice that it would be nice to have someone with whom to celebrate love. Flowers would be lovely, I thought.
Indeed, flowers are lovely.
You would think that after being with someone for two Valentines now, that I require, even demand, the requisite flowers. It is surprising then, even to myself, that I've come to view V-Day a lot differently now then I did back in highschool. Somewhere along the years, I came to the conclusion that V-Day is more a Hallmark holiday. I reasoned that real lovers do not need a day dedicated to celebrate love; truly in love people celebrate love every day. Furthermore, I, being the snob that I am, do not want to celebrate my love along with the rest of the world. After all, how could romance be truly romantic if every other couple were doing the same thing? I do not bash the holiday, as it is always good to have more love going around, even if the greeting card companies are behind it all. Love is so good indeed that it shouldn't be confined to one day out of the year.
It is quite simple. Above everything, above the carnations and roses... above all else, all anyone really ever yearns for is simply to be loved. And loved is what I am.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The hardest challenge....
One of the most difficult challenges is getting up after a nasty fall, figuratively speaking of course. How do you muster the strength to get up, dust yourself off, and stand tall again after being knocked down so brutally? Up until this change, I believed I was invincible; I could walk on water if I really tried....
As hard as it may be, we always get back up. We must. There is no alternative. We must get back up. It takes time, to slowly erode away the memory of the crushing pain. It takes introspection, lots of introspection, to figure out why it happened, and what can be done about it. It takes outside support, because we all need someone to lean on sometimes, as cheesy as that may sound. Looking back, I am incredibly grateful for all the unwavering support from the people in my life.
So, to stand up again is a monumental effort in its own right. Yet, to climb back up on the proverbial horse is like facing Everest. I exaggerate, but it's not too far from the truth in my humblest opinion. To put yourself out there again, giving everything you have, can make a person feel so vulnerable, so bare and exposed.
Melodramatics aside, the bottom line is simple: Falls are inevitable; giving it another try is not optional.
*** "You're really the only shadow standing in your own sunshine." - Fabio from Top Chef. ***
As hard as it may be, we always get back up. We must. There is no alternative. We must get back up. It takes time, to slowly erode away the memory of the crushing pain. It takes introspection, lots of introspection, to figure out why it happened, and what can be done about it. It takes outside support, because we all need someone to lean on sometimes, as cheesy as that may sound. Looking back, I am incredibly grateful for all the unwavering support from the people in my life.
So, to stand up again is a monumental effort in its own right. Yet, to climb back up on the proverbial horse is like facing Everest. I exaggerate, but it's not too far from the truth in my humblest opinion. To put yourself out there again, giving everything you have, can make a person feel so vulnerable, so bare and exposed.
Melodramatics aside, the bottom line is simple: Falls are inevitable; giving it another try is not optional.
*** "You're really the only shadow standing in your own sunshine." - Fabio from Top Chef. ***
Monday, January 17, 2011
Halcion: thou art mighty
Wisdom teeth: any of the third molars, usually appearing in the late teens, early 20s;
Impacted wisdom teeth: those growing in horizontally, or in any other odd positions, that would impact the other teeth and would need to be removed
Anxiety: adaptive response to an impending danger that is integral to an organism's ability to cope with or avoid a stress (Pham, X. 2009 ) :D
Halcion: generic name = triazolam; a benzodiazapine derivative with sedative and hypnotic properties. It was used to treat insomnia but is not popular now as it is known to have a high dependency rate and has some pretty terrible side-effects. It is still used by dentists, however, when they need their patients to be completely and utterly knocked out for procedures, such as, oh I don't know... wisdom teeth extractions, maybe?
1/7/11: My original appointment for the four extractions. I chickened out and had to reschedule.
1/13/11: I picked up some prescriptions from the pharmacy that the dentist's office called in for me. Instructions: take one Halcion before going to bed. Done. While on the phone after taking the pill, I mentioned that I didn't feel anything, no drowsiness, no sedation. I said that I was worried the medication wasn't working, and that I would be awake for the procedure the following day. I don't remember the rest of the conversation, and I was only told later that I fell asleep in the middle of talking on the phone.
1/14/11: Instructions: take 2 Halcion pills one hour before appointment. I took the 2 little blue pills at 9am, and laid down to watch some TV before being picked up for the dentist. I don't remember what I watched. I vaguely remember answering the phone at 9:30am. As my mom recalls, she heard a huge thud from upstairs at around that time, so I'm guessing that I must have fallen out of my bed. I remember nothing else. Per my sister's recollection, she saw me stagger and stumble down the stairs like a drunkard, swaying heavily as I walked, and stopped at the front door to look outside. Supposedly, I was laughing all the way down as I muttered something. I then turned to her, and fell backwards on the ground, and laid there laughing. She helped me up and walked me outside, where my bf took over and helped me into the car. Apparently I screamed at him for not closing the car door fast enough, because I was cold. Again, I remember nothing!
At the dentist's office, I stumbled in and fell into the chair. He took a look at me, and proceeded to crush up my 2 remaining Halcion pills, and told me to drink up. It was all black after that. I have some blurry memories of a gas mask being put on me, and that at some point in time, I had to use the bathroom. I recall the dentist yelling out to my bf my teeth status: "2 out, 2 more to go!" I remember my nose itching and scratching it. Two hours later, I remember at the end when I was coming out of it, that through my gauze-filled mouth, I asked if I can keep my teeth.
I don't remember the drive home, or how I got back into bed. I woke up, or was woken up, periodically to changed my bloody gauze pads. And I slept. I slept like the dead. At one point I remember the pain being excruciating on the right side of my jaw (he had some trouble with that tooth) and was crying. Good thing the doc gave me some hydrocodone. I managed to be awake for a bit to put down some applesauce, but it came back up, along with some chunks of brown blood that I'm guessing I swallowed during the procedure.
I'm most thankful for the Halcion for getting me through the procedure. One of the things I was most anxious about was not the pain during the procedure; I was sure they would make it so I wouldn't feel anything. What I was worried about was whether or not I would be awake, and so would be able to hear the drills, the cracks, the cutting & sawing. And also, if I was awake, I would smell the burning of the drills and the flesh, and that is more freaky to me than anything else. So, to have no recollection of the two hours I spent in the dentist chair is a blessing. As for the other stuff, I wish there was a way I could watch myself tumble about that Friday morning.
One of the reasons Halcion is no longer being used to treat insomnia is because of its effects the following nights. Halcion has a tendency to cause rebound insomnia, in which case more drugs are needed to treat the problem. Although I was only on the drug for a short time, I took into my system 5 pills at 0.25mg apiece in the span of about 12 hours. I slept gloriously through the procedure, and for the rest of the day, through most of the pain. However, that night, I could not sleep a wink. My eyes refused to shut, and my brain would not slow down. I ended up staying awake the entire night, watching YouTube videos and perusing the internet. Even the next day I was not sleepy, and had to force myself to nap in the afternoon. I think by now the Halcion is cleared out of my system, and I'm relieved to have my sleep back.
Halcion: don't underestimate the power of these tiny blue pills!
On another related note: my cheeks swelled up to twice the size of my face. I looked like a chipmunk that has stumbled on a stash of nuts in the middle of recession. My sister laughs as she tells me I shouldn't be holding candy in my mouth anymore. I got some sympathetic chuckles at work today for the cheeks. On the bright side, I know what I'll look like if I ever gain 20 more pounds... very bloated.
Impacted wisdom teeth: those growing in horizontally, or in any other odd positions, that would impact the other teeth and would need to be removed
Anxiety: adaptive response to an impending danger that is integral to an organism's ability to cope with or avoid a stress (Pham, X. 2009 ) :D
Halcion: generic name = triazolam; a benzodiazapine derivative with sedative and hypnotic properties. It was used to treat insomnia but is not popular now as it is known to have a high dependency rate and has some pretty terrible side-effects. It is still used by dentists, however, when they need their patients to be completely and utterly knocked out for procedures, such as, oh I don't know... wisdom teeth extractions, maybe?
1/7/11: My original appointment for the four extractions. I chickened out and had to reschedule.
1/13/11: I picked up some prescriptions from the pharmacy that the dentist's office called in for me. Instructions: take one Halcion before going to bed. Done. While on the phone after taking the pill, I mentioned that I didn't feel anything, no drowsiness, no sedation. I said that I was worried the medication wasn't working, and that I would be awake for the procedure the following day. I don't remember the rest of the conversation, and I was only told later that I fell asleep in the middle of talking on the phone.
1/14/11: Instructions: take 2 Halcion pills one hour before appointment. I took the 2 little blue pills at 9am, and laid down to watch some TV before being picked up for the dentist. I don't remember what I watched. I vaguely remember answering the phone at 9:30am. As my mom recalls, she heard a huge thud from upstairs at around that time, so I'm guessing that I must have fallen out of my bed. I remember nothing else. Per my sister's recollection, she saw me stagger and stumble down the stairs like a drunkard, swaying heavily as I walked, and stopped at the front door to look outside. Supposedly, I was laughing all the way down as I muttered something. I then turned to her, and fell backwards on the ground, and laid there laughing. She helped me up and walked me outside, where my bf took over and helped me into the car. Apparently I screamed at him for not closing the car door fast enough, because I was cold. Again, I remember nothing!
At the dentist's office, I stumbled in and fell into the chair. He took a look at me, and proceeded to crush up my 2 remaining Halcion pills, and told me to drink up. It was all black after that. I have some blurry memories of a gas mask being put on me, and that at some point in time, I had to use the bathroom. I recall the dentist yelling out to my bf my teeth status: "2 out, 2 more to go!" I remember my nose itching and scratching it. Two hours later, I remember at the end when I was coming out of it, that through my gauze-filled mouth, I asked if I can keep my teeth.
I don't remember the drive home, or how I got back into bed. I woke up, or was woken up, periodically to changed my bloody gauze pads. And I slept. I slept like the dead. At one point I remember the pain being excruciating on the right side of my jaw (he had some trouble with that tooth) and was crying. Good thing the doc gave me some hydrocodone. I managed to be awake for a bit to put down some applesauce, but it came back up, along with some chunks of brown blood that I'm guessing I swallowed during the procedure.
I'm most thankful for the Halcion for getting me through the procedure. One of the things I was most anxious about was not the pain during the procedure; I was sure they would make it so I wouldn't feel anything. What I was worried about was whether or not I would be awake, and so would be able to hear the drills, the cracks, the cutting & sawing. And also, if I was awake, I would smell the burning of the drills and the flesh, and that is more freaky to me than anything else. So, to have no recollection of the two hours I spent in the dentist chair is a blessing. As for the other stuff, I wish there was a way I could watch myself tumble about that Friday morning.
One of the reasons Halcion is no longer being used to treat insomnia is because of its effects the following nights. Halcion has a tendency to cause rebound insomnia, in which case more drugs are needed to treat the problem. Although I was only on the drug for a short time, I took into my system 5 pills at 0.25mg apiece in the span of about 12 hours. I slept gloriously through the procedure, and for the rest of the day, through most of the pain. However, that night, I could not sleep a wink. My eyes refused to shut, and my brain would not slow down. I ended up staying awake the entire night, watching YouTube videos and perusing the internet. Even the next day I was not sleepy, and had to force myself to nap in the afternoon. I think by now the Halcion is cleared out of my system, and I'm relieved to have my sleep back.
Halcion: don't underestimate the power of these tiny blue pills!
On another related note: my cheeks swelled up to twice the size of my face. I looked like a chipmunk that has stumbled on a stash of nuts in the middle of recession. My sister laughs as she tells me I shouldn't be holding candy in my mouth anymore. I got some sympathetic chuckles at work today for the cheeks. On the bright side, I know what I'll look like if I ever gain 20 more pounds... very bloated.
Monday, January 10, 2011
It is no coincidence that my last post for 2010 happened to also be when I started my new job. As they say, the more you have to write about, the less time you have to write down those thoughts. After coming home from work, I feel so drained. I don't know how other people do it, juggling a full-time job, attending night school, raising a family, nursing a baby, curing cancer... all at the same time. All I feel like doing when I come home is vegetate. It's not that I don't have stuff I want to write about, it's just difficult finding the energy & the motivation to articulate my thoughts. And also, it probably doesn't help that I'm a bit of a freak when it comes to posting. It's obvious I'm not going for the Pulitzer, but I have a tendency to be over-analytical about what I compose, and so I tend to over-edit, and so the whole process is that much more tedious. But it shouldn't be tedious. This should be a therapeutic medium for me to express my opinions, no matter how biased or imperfect. So... no more reading & re-reading, and re-re-reading, and over-editing! Who's really going to check my sentence structure anyways?! Write when I feel inspired, and post when I feel like it, no matter how imperfect my writing may be.
Topics dancing in my head:
- Pygmy hippos
- Blue balls
- Books!
- "Hose to the sky"
- feeding a lion rice
-toilet seats
-cystic fibrosis
-Caribbean
-E-Z Squeezy
-Ad sense?
-... and so much more. Just have to get to it!
Topics dancing in my head:
- Pygmy hippos
- Blue balls
- Books!
- "Hose to the sky"
- feeding a lion rice
-toilet seats
-cystic fibrosis
-Caribbean
-E-Z Squeezy
-Ad sense?
-... and so much more. Just have to get to it!
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