That Time I Tried to Be Oprah, and Other Adventures

My change of scene has gotten… interesting... this past week. The nearby colleges have started, and I live right between Boston College and Boston University. And I go to school near Emerson College. And I think my neighbor sends people fake college degrees online for $50. All of this spells trouble, since, as you may know, I’m not particularly fond of the youth. They’re loud, use confusing language, and are way cooler than me. I was walking back from class when a group of young go-getters surrounded me.  All I basically saw was this:

Not too sure how that one girl walked toward me sideways. 

The Alpha Female approached me, disposable camera in hand. “WE’RE ON A SCAVENGER HUNT. CAN WE TAKE A PICTURE WITH YOU? JONAS BROTHERS MILEY CYRUS THE OC.” I was a little suspicious, until she said “WE NEED PICTURES WITH PEOPLE WE DON’T KNOW. TWILIGHT 90210.” I hope she was being honest, and the real goal wasn’t to get a picture with Someone-Who-Is-Vaguely-Mexican-But-Could-Also-Pass-For-Some-Kind-of-Eastern-European, because I really don’t have time for a hate crime these days. Anyway, out of both the kindness and fear of my heart, I took a picture with them. Besides, in case I’m kidnapped, it never hurts to have a recent photo floating around.

As they left, the Alpha Female said “WE’RE ON A BRIGADE TO KILL CHILDREN! ORLANDO BLOOM MYSPACE.” As I wished them luck in their lofty infanticidal goal, I witnessed a power struggle within the group. The Omega Female clearly wanted to become the star of the group, so she ran out into the street as someone took a photo—while a bus was approaching. True, she could’ve died. But more importantly, she could’ve become popular.

Aside from being exploited by young strangers, another high point of this week has been sleeping on my new mattress. Days after I’ve started enjoying my mattress, I found a card that the movers must have dropped. It was a note from the Sleep Product Safety Council, which I assume is a necessary government agency. It said “Don’t Go To Sleep Yet… Eight Things You Need to Know About Your New Mattress.” It had the basics, like don’t smoke in bed and don’t roll over on babies, but it warned me that my mattress is not fireproof. “Compared to older mattresses, you new mattress will, if ignited, burn more slowly and less intensely, giving you more time to escape.” Which I guess means that if my bed catches on fire, I can catch a few more minutes of shut-eye before I have to get out. Or, I should line my apartment with whatever the bed is made out of.

School is school. It’s an overload of fascinating material, so studying isn’t too bad. The only problem is that when they show and describe diseases and conditions, I think I have most of them. Ask me about my battle with progeria sometime.

We had our patient interviewing course this week, and I was determined to step up and interview a patient. It’s intimidating, because you’re interviewing a real patient, taking up their time, and you’re doing it in front of other first year students and a fourth year student who will all give you feedback. My goal was basically to channel Oprah. I was going to hold that patient’s hand, make them open up about their Type II diabetes and their good-for-nothing father, and use words like “sister-friend.”

Then I met my patient. She was elderly, so “sister-friend” was out. When I asked her what brought her to the hospital today, she lifted her swollen foot, pointed to it, and said “ISN’T IT OBVIOUS?” Unfortunately, I got really flustered and responded with “WHAT IS THAT.” Like, it wasn’t even said as a question. Just… “WHAT IS THAT.” She soon ended the interview.

My guess is that she was just very anxious about her condition and ended up not feeling up for an interview. My other guess is that I accidentally channeled Judge Judy instead of Oprah. That would explain why she responded to me with “But I DIDN’T pee on your leg, and it’s NOT raining…”

Other than building rapport with the sick and the virtue of poverty, being a medical student has other benefits. The school gave out free flu shots for employees and students, and I saw “free,” so I was all over that. When I rolled up my sleeve I did end up blinding the poor nurse with my farmer tan. Don’t worry, she’s expected to return to work in a week or so.

Also, the multitude of clubs/organizations I signed up for have been having their general interest meetings, which people have caught on that that means free food. Many people showed up to the American Medical School Association (a progressive medical group) meeting in anticipation of free Thai food. I specifically didn’t pack a lunch because of it. Then it was unexpectedly cancelled. For a group that’s about social justice, I’m surprised that they dangled Thai food in front of us and took it away—that’s something that only “the Man” would do.  Hopefully the burritos at the Psychiatry Interest Group meeting next week will make up for it.

Speaking of which, we found a Chipotle here! This may not seem like a big deal to my fortunate California readers, but (good) Mexican food is a rarity here. I’m not sure what characterizes Bostonian food. If you looked at my cupboard, you’d think it was canned goods, brown bananas, macaroni and cheese, and snacks from Dollar Tree, so you should probably get this information from someone else.

Before I go off to study and learn that I probably have Tay-Sachs disease, I just want to wish my mom a very Happy Birthday! J 

Bobby

I've got a lot of class

I survived my first week of classes! Right now, I’m taking Biochemistry, Genetics, Molecular Biology, Cell Tissue and Organ Biology, Medical Interviewing, probably some other biologies, and we’ve had Patient Presentations every day. Making my typical schedule as follows:

6AM: Alarm goes off

6:15AM: Get out of bed

6:45AM: Leave apartment

6:47AM: See the train I wanted to be on leave without me

6:58AM: Get on another train into the city

7:25AM: Arrive in Chinatown

7:26AM: Pass by Dunkin Donuts

7:26AM: Pass by Dunkin Donuts

7:27AM: Pass by a Dunkin Donuts

7:28AM: If I didn’t have breakfast, succumb to the power of suggestion and buy a bagel and/or juice from Dunkin Donuts

7:30-7:45AM: Print out lecture slides from library

7:48AM: Use the bathroom in a building that doesn’t have the library or the lecture hall I need to go to, just because the stalls are roomy

8:00AM: Go to lecture

8:00AM-12:15PM: Be really confused

12:15PM-12:53PM: If I didn’t bring a lunch, be indecisive about what to do about lunch

12:53PM-12:56PM: Wait in line for lunch

12:56PM-12:57PM: Eat lunch and walk back to lecture

1:00PM-3:00PM: Be confused and moderately comatose

 

Some days I’ve had five lectures for four classes, but it’s all very interesting

For example, we learned about the parasitic disease toxoplasmosis. It’s primarily found in cats, and is present in their feces. 

It can cause birth defects in humans, which is why expectant mothers shouldn’t change cat litter. Now not only do I need to have a child (for primo airline seats), but now I have to carry it as well so that I can get out of changing cat litter. Because I did that so much at home.

We also learned about Clostridium difficile which is seen after surgeries, because the post-surgical antibiotics kill the body’s natural “bacterial flora” (it sounds kinda purty), leaving the intestinal tract open to infection. Someone asked a good question about preventing this disease—they asked if doctors are giving probiotics to help the body replace the “bacterial flora” before infection can take place. I guess they don’t really do that, and they’ve actually found that an effective preventative measure is for the patient to ingest the feces of a healthy person. Which is why I now suggest that 2girls, 1cup be renamed 2patients, 1 cure.

Besides science with fun diseases thrown in, we’ve also started our medical interviewing course. We have to dress up, but we get to go to an off-site hospital (or retirement home, depending on your group) and talk with patients (or retirement home residents) there. My hospital site is really close to my apartment, which is nice for when the class is done, except we always have class beforehand. So I still have to get up at 6AM, go to lecture, and have an hour to eat lunch and get to my site (it takes about 40 minutes for me to get to school on the train). So I made sure to pack a lunch, but I’d have to eat it on the train. But that’s awkward, and possibly not allowed. 

However, since I’m neurotic, my thought process for lunch went as follows:

"Oh god, what if I get hypoglycemic during the interview?"

"Oh god, what if the patient I’m talking to is diabetic?"

"Oh god, what if the patient goes into hypoglycemia the same time I do, and the doctors don’t know which one of us to help first?"

"I better eat my sandwich"

I didn’t get yelled at, so I guess PB&J is okay on Boston public transportation, if you’re looking for a travel tip.

At the site, my group interviewed a really nice patient, but due to medical ethics and federal regulations, I can’t tell you anything about them, unless you blackmail me or threaten to tickle me.

Other than that, I’m still getting settled into my new Bostonian life. I finally got my bed and futon, which make me feel like less of a squatter. I also bit the bullet and submitted my order for medical equipment. I got an ophthalmoscope (to look at the eyes), an otoscope (for the ears/throat), a stethoscope, and a bottle of Scope (for that minty refreshed feeling). I also got my stethoscope to have my name engraved on it. I wanted to get something cooler engraved on it, like “Dr. B Middy” or “Batman,” but they keep stressing professionalism or something here. The second years keep saying that they didn’t use the non-stethoscope equipment very much, since most hospital rooms are equipped with those, but I’m thinking of going into Family Medicine, where I’ll need my own set. So when you see me, prepare to be improperly examined (and diagnosed), so that I can get my money’s worth.

With all of these purchases, I’m now pretty wary of spending money on anything else, and buying and maintaining quality groceries has always been the lowest priority when it comes to what I spend my money on. Below underappreciated DVDs, below cool 8x10 photos, below Pop Rocks, and below Mexican jumping beans.

Going along with this, I’ve recently discovered that my hot kitchen is not a great place for, say, perishables. I bought some bananas, thinking they’d be okay, because my humid kitchen is like a jungle, and bananas grow in the jungle. So really, I should’ve had bigger bananas over time. But this wasn’t the case.

Instead, they got mushy in a matter of days, and I tried to pull two apart, they both burst open and liquid banana came out of both. But I’m in no position to throw away food just because it “has weird properties,” so I ate them anyway. Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride.

When I’m not in class or eating semi-liquid food, I continue to wander around Boston. While on my way to the library, I came across a store called Downtown DVD. Being an aspiring connoisseur of all things DVD, I decided to pop in.  But all they had were a bunch of weird 80’s movies that I had never heard of. I could tell they were from the 80’s, because they all had that characteristic 80’s-movie cover: light blue background and grainy close-ups of the actors. See?

Anyway, as I moved on, I saw a bunch of random kids DVDs too, and that was it. Sensing my dissatisfaction, the shopkeep told me, “There’s more in the back.” Happy to escape this time machine of a DVD section, I went through the door to the other DVDs he mentioned.

As I saw their expanded selection of DVDs, I thought “Hmm, MILFs Next Door #2… will it answer all of my questions from the first one?” Then I thought “OMG I’M IN A PORN STORE.” There’s no real way to play it cool then.  There was a guy laying down asleep behind the counter, so at least I didn’t have any other conscious witnesses. So I waited a few seconds, admired the store’s immaculate sorting of wares by fetish, and left—with the guy behind the counter probably thinking I left because they didn’t have anything to satisfy my sick needs.

But I guess I'll continue to explore Boston. Stay tuned, because next time I'll probably end up wandering into a speakeasy.

Bobby

Disorientation Week

This whole process is starting to become real, as we had orientation this week. It turns out my class is made up of 200 people (about 50 more than I expected), although a lot of them are in something called the Maine Program. Maine, which is allegedly a state, has a shortage of doctors and no medical school of its own, so they (the Mainish people) work with schools in other states. So Maine Program students attend medical school the first two years (which are classroom-learning based years anyway), and then leave to do their third-year clinical rotations in Maine. I don’t intend on consciously befriending Maine Track program people, because I have abandonment issues.

Struggling to turn my perpetual scowl into a warm smile, I prepared to mingle as they broke up our class into one of four groups: Curie, Galen, Harvey, and Maimonides. I know who Curie is, because she became radioactive and that’s badass. But I have no idea who the others are. Why didn’t they use group names I’d know? Where’s the Brangelina group? 

Due to my crippling social deficiencies, I had a hard time meeting people in this setting. Off-the-cuff first-time conversations with me tend to go one of three ways.

1. “Hi, I’m Bobby! Nice to meet you! … What are your thoughts on abortion?”

2. “Hi, I’m Bobby! Nice to meet you! … So, one true God—yay or nay?”

3. “Hi, I’m Bobby! Nice to meet you! … Your nametag says Jessica. You have a very nice complexion, Jessica. If I could, I’d love to take your skin and wear it as a Jessica suit. … Where are you going?” 

Despite these lasting impressions, I managed to meet a few people who are all great. Hopefully I get to meet more in the smaller class settings, where I can impress others with my ventriloquism with the cadaver, or my ability to offer prognoses with a Magic 8 ball.

Most of the orientation consisted of lectures that introduced us to the different departments and resource of the school. They also had a diversity panel. We heard about one patient who said something offensive about a medical student’s race, but the same patient also claimed that the Republicans broke into her house. So either she was troubled, or like, ahead of her time.

In a setting where patients are offensive to staff, we learned that doctors can “fire” patients from their practice. I’m thinking I might do that on the first day, just to make an example of a patient and keep the others in line. “Anyone else wanna get smart? I’m lookin’ at you, shingles…”

We also had a meeting to learn how to manage stress. We did some breathing exercises in the dark with soothing music, during which I felt jittery, so it’s good to know that universal stress relief techniques stress me out.  She also told us that we should reduce negative thoughts. To which I say, “SHUT UP STRESS LADY.”

During one of the sessions, they showed us some of the tools that doctors use that we should buy, including a stethoscope, an otoscope, and power. Luckily, I wanted to save some money in med school, so I already brought a kit I had at home:

I might need to get a new blood pressure cuff though, since the meter of the one I have apparently has the hands of a clock.

As part of orientation, we had to be certified in Basic Life Support. This includes rescue breathing, chest compressions, and choking relief.  So if you’re going to need rescue around me, please have the courtesy to make it one of those three things so that I can help. Note that if I can’t help you, I won’t find someone else who can, because in addition to having abandonment issues, I have a Superman complex.

As one of the final things for orientation, we had a field day. We were divided into teams, and each team had a theme. Our theme was having the women be doctors, and the men be nurses. Which seemed a little odd, because all of the women in the group will become doctors, and there are plenty of male nurses. But because my reputation follows me everywhere, it was decided that I was a Naughty Nurse. See?

One of the games we played was a water balloon toss. It’s where you and a partner toss a water balloon to each other, and after each successful toss, you take a step back. Sadly my partner would’ve been better off pairing with Edward Scissorhands.

Then we had naughty Pictionary, which I was HORRIBLE at. My guesses were like “Kids who play loud music after 9pm” and “The people of the Czech Republic.” But to be fair, that drawing of herpes totally looked like this exchange student I once knew.

We didn’t get to play all of the games though, since here just because the sun is beating down on you, it doesn’t mean that you can’t have some torrential rain. The adjustment continues.

Other than orientation, I’ve been spending my time exploring the area, getting settled, and scavenging for food. Which is why the blog has suffered already, and I apologize.

Working on my fear, I went to another International Market, which again meant Russian. And this time, everything looked really good! Except I couldn’t tell what a single thing was. And I’m on a budget now, and can’t risk spending money on unknown food for the sake of adventure. Besides, what if I accidentally get Refried Proletariat?

All of my exploration is still part of a larger quest to adjust to the humidity. In doing so, I’ve discovered the beauty of undershirts. Not that I didn’t feel like the belle of Boston, with my sweat stains in locations that were news to me, it’s just that this is a time for new experiences. I’ve never been drawn to them before, since I’m not Italian and I don’t abuse my (non-existent) significant other, but I had them so I thought I’d try them.

They work like magic! They wick the sweat away and keep me cool, without the unsightly stains. People come up to me now and say “Bobby are you slightly less repulsive? What’s your secret?” And I respond coyly with “Ooh, I’ll never tell!”

Anxious to get more of these wonders, I went to my local A. J. Wright. It’s kind of like T. J. Maxx, but with different initials. I DID find them, and they WERE inexpensive, but the packages had a sticker on them marked “IRREGULAR.” Some of them even had the word printed on the package by the manufacturer. Although this sounds like a perfect description of something suited for my frame, I was too afraid of getting an undershirt with only one sleeve, or with one really long sleeve, or really any condition that would give me asymmetrical sweat stains.  Because if there’s one thing that’s more unattractive than sweat stains, it’s haphazard sweat stains.

The second biggest adjustment, after humidity, has been the traffic. As a pedestrian from a small town, it’s hard to know when it’s safe to cross a street, because the walking signals don’t always work, and people don’t really use them here anyway. I know that I just need to walk parallel with traffic, but I’m still self-conscious. A lot of the time, I just wait for a group of people to cross the street first, and go with them. Even if they’re wrong, I’ll have a barrier of Bostonians to cushion the blow. The worst was the other day, when, no joke, I realized I took my cue to cross from a blind man. To review, I trusted my own sense of sight less than that of a blind man.

Speaking of blind men, I saw another one outside of the subway station, singing for money. Which is fine, except he was singing “I Only Have Eyes for You.” Impressed by his irony, I gave him some change. (Actually, I gave him buttons, but he won’t know… Kidding! I gave him nothing.)

Among other Bostonian quirks, outside of a bar, there was a homeless man with a sign “Help me Get Drunk” with a can to collect change. However, I decided to just give him a flask of whiskey, because you know how the homeless are—you give them money for booze, and they end up spending it on food.

Thankfully, I FINALLY got my financial aid check! I’m not the type who would think the world’s problems can be solved by money, but… they can, and are. So if you have problems, GET MONEY AND THEY WILL FADE AWAY.

I’ve been advised to budget my money, which I think means impulsively spend it on things that give me ephemeral happiness.  Strange how I know what ephemeral means, but not budget. Don’t worry, I’m only buying the essentials at this point, like a bed, a futon, and a pet hyena. In my defense, hyenas can digest just about anything, even bones, so with the time I’ll save by not having to take out the trash, it’ll practically pay for itself!

While I wait for my hyena bid on eBay, I bought my mattress and futon yesterday. This is a big achievement, because I tend to be a bit naïve when it comes to making major purchases. Especially when salespeople can be manipulative. I figured it’d be a success if I didn’t come home with magic beans.

The people at the Boston Bed Company were actually really friendly and didn’t put pressure on me for anything. So if you happen to be in Boston, and you happen to need a bed, I highly recommend them. But unfortunately, since the mattress delivery industry observes the Sabbath, I couldn’t get my stuff today, and I have to wait until next Saturday (since I have class everyday this week) to have my bed. But that’s okay, it gives me time to see if I can find the proper sheets for it.

Hmm?

Time to go into the city to… budget… and then get some reading done for my first classes that start tomorrow!

Bobby

New Year, New School, New Blog

I’ve decided to blog again, to keep my friends and family updated about my life in medical school in Boston. Besides, I hate taking life journeys alone, so this way I get to take you with me!  Also, having a blog to report to will be a great way to avoid slipping into those “big city” vices of drugs, alcohol, and volunteering.

So like with most journeys, mine begins with a 1am plane ride…

Since I apparently used my fake ID of Bobby McDownwithcapitalism, my luggage was thoroughly searched. Even though I left my plastique at home, I felt very nervous, like security was going to find something bad, so I felt the need to explain what my removed “suspicious” items were. “Those are just pictures!” “That’s a sphygmomanometer…”—he was bewildered by the sphygmomanometer and wary of my framed picture of my mom and grandma and sister. Allegedly, because the sphygmomanometer looks like a detonator, and images of empowered women across generations threaten democracy. 

After confirming that the pictures were of my friends and family and not of my fellow al-Qaeda members, I was free to board. I was seated in the row right behind first class. Which is perfect, because I enjoy opulence that is in my sight, but just out of my reach. I didn’t see as much as I wanted to though, because they separate that area with a curtain, lest my retinas be damaged by their wealthy glow. As everybody knows, you’re supposed to gaze upon the affluent with one of these:

See, I thought I was all smart because I got a seat at the front of the plane.  I envisioned deboarding the plane right after landing, guffawing as I left scrambling and disgruntled passengers in my wake.  But it turns out that Continental boards from the back to the front. And, the front seats (lacking seats in front of them) don’t have carry-on storage in your personal space. So BOTH my carry-ons had to be put in overhead storage. Which was limited, because everyone else was all settled. So I ended up putting my stuff rows behind me, and was among the last to deboard. This is what it’s like, when the mighty fall.

Not to sound like a hopeless romantic, but I now resolve to obtain a child for the sole purpose of getting priority airplane boarding privileges. Don’t worry, I intend to reward/raise the child properly. I’ll share approximately half of my airport McDonald’s McGriddle with it, because I think in doctor school they’re gonna teach us that maple is an essential vitamin of developing brain stems. And my airplane seating baby is gonna have the healthiest brain stem on the block!

The plane ride itself was pretty uneventful, minus our in-flight entertainment of Confessions of a Shopaholic, starring Not Debra Messing. I couldn’t watch it with audio, since I refuse to pay $1 for weird two-pronged headphones I can’t use anywhere except Continental flights, but from what I could piece together (SPOILER ALERT!) she either conquered her shopaholism or found a man or something. My angle also made the movie appear in weird inverted colors, so I think she also became a zombie.

After a layover in Houston, I made it to Boston.  Immediately I was assaulted by my old arch-nemesis: humidity. Non-existent story short, my hair immediately looked like this

except less murder-chargey.

After about an hour of looking awesome while carrying all my stuff, I finally made it to my apartment. I like it a lot—it’s a studio, but the kitchen and living room/bedroom are in separate rooms.  The only things I have to get used to are having a radiator (which it turns out is NOT a hibachi grill), and using roller shades, which I’m horrible at. Anyone reading this who went to Pomona, or who is currently Amish, will know what these are.

Like with all new settings, sleeping on the first night was difficult. Every creak became “Is that a mouse?! Boston has those…” and every spooky whisper became “Is that a Kennedy?! Boston has those…” If I were a more optimistic person, I would’ve reacted with “Is that a rich history and diverse culture?! Boston has those…” but we both know that’s not happening.

The next morning, I noticed something interesting.  When you wake up and look around and think “OH MY GOD I’VE BEEN ROBBED,” it’s surprisingly not that comforting when you realize “OH WAIT, I DON’T OWN ANYTHING.”

Later that day, I had a Comcast installer come by. I found out that my internet/cable line that runs through my wall was faulty or even cut. So maintenance resolved it by running a new one through my windowsill.

I immediately contacted Comcast to reschedule an appointment, since I was already shaking and hallucinating from not having checked my Facebook in two days, but it turns out they couldn’t come until Monday.

It was then that I faced a temptation so taboo that I guarantee no other blog dare speak its name: stealing a neighbor’s unsecured wireless. At first I felt bad about stealing internet. I’ve never stolen anything except the occasional heart, and now more than ever I’m supposed to be professional. My initial thought process was “But I NEED to check my email, for school purposes of course, so I’ll just check my email, and then disable my wireless card, and resume being a good citizen.” And that’s what I did.

But somewhere along the line, this devolved into “WHOA I CAN STREAM THIS 90-MINUTE MOVIE ONLINE! AND CHAT WHILE ON FACEBOOK.” So begins my downward spiral into depravity.

Although it was glamorous stealing internet in an empty room, while sweating as much as you’d expect someone who spends time stealing internet in an empty room sweats, I’m incredibly lucky to have great friends out here who took me shopping.  There I bought a desk, a chair, a bookshelf, a microwave, and some frames. This made me very happy since my room was looking like one of those dungeons where they find young Eastern Europeans who have been held captive since they were born. A few more days like that and you would’ve seen a picture of my room on BBC with the caption “Zis is vhere I kept Svetlana. What iz problem?”

In a half-hearted effort to accept my life changes, I explored my surroundings a bit.  I found this market called Bazaar, advertised as an international market. Being the citizen of the world that I am, I entered.

As I moseyed through the aisles, it then hit me. This wasn’t just any market. This was a Russian market. Which could only mean one thing. I was surrounded. By Russians. Remembering protocol, I searched my pocket. My cyanide tablet was nowhere to be found. Soon, I was cornered by the ethnic cheeses. I tried to remember that episode of MacGuyver where he creates a smokebomb using only Polish gouda and Turkish Delights, only to realize that that probably never happened. Thankfully, using my disguise of an awkward 23 year old with mild acne, I eventually snuck by them to safety.

As I continued to explore, I found another store that caught my eye: Treasure Chest. They advertised vintage wares. Being the citizen of the old world that I am, I entered.

This store was not what it seemed either. I sifted through the posters, but they were all of Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, and Alice in Wonderland—specifically the hookah-smoking caterpillar. Then it hit me. This wasn’t just any vintage store. This was a bong store. Which could only mean one thing. I was surrounded. By bongs.

Apparently I still had my awkward 23 year old (with mild acne) disguise on, because I didn’t want to be rude (being the only customer, with the shopkeeper right there). So I looked around and half-heartedly admired the bongs. “Wow, a bong shaped like Medusa… Neat!”  Then it got too exhausting, and I had already given the octopus bong a once-over, twice. So with a “Well, take care,” I left.

I think I’ll just stick to the Dollar Tree and Stop n Shop, for now.

Bobby