Revisiting Those Cobblestone Streets of My Beloved, Self-Created Former Life: What it was Like and What it all Means.

I begin this entry lovingly with this: if you have not read Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love, please immediately get yourself to a library, bookstore, second-hand bookstore, Amazon, or a friend-who-has-it and do. It will speak to you if you are the gourmande (ahem, I live to eat, so yes, I fall in this category, as further evidenced by how much of my long-weekend was spent doing just that). Or if you've ever suffered any sort of heartache (I was once a pre-teen, teen and sophomore -literally, a "wise fool" -and continue to be human, so of course, count me in this category too). Or if you've ever even so much as attempted a philosophical, spiritual or existential self-search (if I'm writing this blog... well, enough said). And finally, if you have just been craving a darn good read, you will fall in love with the author / protagonist, her writing and her story, with every part of your being. Now, I do have to admit that I had to stiffle my giggles in the bookstore when I came across a memoirs that clearly sought to mock Gilbert's fabulous work, this mockery entitled, "Drink, Play, F@#!", but nonetheless, as the infamous athletic-wear brand would say, "Just Do It".

"Getting There"

As the anatomy mnemonic for the 12 cranial nerves goes "Oh, once one takes the anatomy final, very good vacations are had!" And so they were. I began my precious week off with a drive down to Plattsburgh, NY with my Mum (which was a lovely mother-daughter time) last Thursday, from where I boarded a nine-passenger aircraft to Boston. If you want some idea of how tiny the airport was, know that the free parking lot is infinitely larger than the actual airport, that one need only arrive at check-in 15 minutes prior to departure, and should you arrive any earlier than that, you may find yourself seemingly the only person in the whole airport until you ring the little bell and the one check-in-lady/luggage-porter/seating hostess emerges from behind some back-room. If you want some idea of how tiny this plane was, think of it this way: they asked me how much I weighed when I checked in, everyone one the plane had a window and an aisle seat, the lightest people had to sit in the back, it was like piling into a van where once you're sitting, that's it, there's no "moving around". However, the ride was absolutely stunning. At first, I was just stunned with the bumpiness of the ride (almost like the flight to Flagstaff, AZ). But then, suddenly, only sheer beauty all around.

We were weaving our way through the sky on an invisible current, just beneath a canopy of grey and pearl cotton. The steel Adirondacks held their own below, still dusted with snow, and the plateaus of New York and Vermont stretched out brown and hungry for life after a harsh winter. Water canyons snaked their way, cutting through the land, leaving behind silver mirror shards for lakes. A warm spring sun scattered it's light between the cracks of canopy, over my arm and face, and blessed the Earth below. 'Made you wonder 2 things: firstly, whether Heaven truly lies above in the skies or in the Earthly beauty on which you looked down, and secondly, why anyone would ever pay hundreds of dollars for those silly helicopter tours that last all of 5 seconds, when they could get the same spectacular view for a mere $108 US (return!), for a whole 75 minutes, while actually traveling to a real destination.

"Awkward to Be Back" and "Moving on More Than You Thought You Had"

I arrived to a warm, sunny, familiar Boston, and surely had a ridiculous, stupid smile plastered on my face the whole Silver-Red Line journey "home" to Harvard Square. It was so good to be back! First things first. Paid my visit to the dear old Kirkland House security guard that we all know and love -cynical and endearing as ever. Saw various K-House people walking about between the JCR and D-hall, lounging around the courtyard... it was exactly as I remembered leaving it. Except now, I was a ghost... everything was the same, but the graduate no longer belongs there. Not because anyone is unfriendly -in fact, people are quite friendly and welcoming (well some are, others are their usual arrogant, awkward selves -and let me tell you, if you managed to desensitize yourself to it during your four years of undergrad, even to the point where you were denying the "awkward turtle" as myth, it is painfully in your face upon revisitation... so I must say that in true Harvard spirit, it was awkward to be back. Which was fitting and quaint in many ways) -it's just that you realize that you have changed, you have grown (yes, even in that one measly year since graduation), you've moved on more than you thought you had (a perfect example of this to follow shortly), and thus, you no longer belong there. Because you belong exactly right where you are in life now -that is fully your rightful place, and what you really, truly miss is not something you can "go back and visit". This closure was very important for me and the timing was quite perfect. I think I'd even venture to say that the visit as a whole, was perfectly self-revealing, perfectly exhilirating, and perfectly FUN (oh sooooo much fun!)!!!

Most of all I enjoyed the company of my ol' peoples, my ol' haunts, and even some new discoveries. Right here, I would like to again thank the three generous friends who lent me their spare beds, their roommates' beds and their couches for the five nights I spent in Cambridge -nothing like sleep-over style chatties, bonding and... sleeping. Remember, mi casa es tu casa tambien. Anyhow, back to food and friends.

On that first evening, I spent five hours catching up with my Quincy-blockmate, exchanging stories, advice, gossip, mozzarella sticks and french fries (at The Pub), and tastes of different mochi ice cream flavours at Boston Tea Stop. Of course, I had been craving the best bubble tea in the world for eons by now, and thusly purchased a rose-flower-black-milk-tea-with-boba, despite the fact that it was after 4:00 pm and I thus risked a sleepless night due to that crazy Asian black tea (which did in unfortunate fact prove to be a poor choice as I found myself tossing and turning restlessly until about 5:00 a.m.). Now after taking that first, what should have been "divine" sip, you know what I found myself thinking? Brace yourself for this blasphemy: "Naila, it's great, but really, what's the big deal?" What's the big deal? Seriously? Clearly I had moved on more than I thought, right!

"YUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMM!!!!" said the Glutton

Oh, but I ate delicious food and had a wonderful time back in my former home -really, a full-out Harvard / Cambridge / Boston / me experience. From the tasty smoked turkey, Swiss, tomato and lettuce "Fayerweather" sandwich on garlic and rosemary bread at Darwin's to the light grilled chicken, buffalo mozzarella and red pepper thin-crust pizza at Cambridge One -oh, I did indulge! Rich, dark hot chocolate at Burdick's. Sweet, creamy chocolate chip cannoli at Mike's. Succulant lamb and cinnamon-brown rice Qablee pillaw, and Afghan Kadoo (sugary pumpkin, with yogurt, meat sauce and various chutnees) at Helmand. My favourite Greenhouse Cafe chicken wings (little known gem of this Science Center "restaurant"). Burnt sugar ice cream at Christina's. Steak quesadilla with rice, guacamole, "fresh" salsa and jalapeno hot sauce at Anna's Taqueria (near MIT), where I also tried their almond-milky Mexican drink, which tastes like Turkish rice pudding in a cup. Sesame fried shrimp rice rolls, and yummy butter chicken at Super 88 across from khane.

And that's not including the new places I tried! I went to Henrietta's Table (in the Charles Hotel) for the first time, for brunch with one of my almost-little-sister who suggested that fabulous book that I just finished pushing on you (above). Yummy, surprisingly reasonably-priced breakfast food indeed! Also fabulous freshly-squeezed orange-carrot juice. Really, this little sis has impeccable taste and I am so very proud of the beautiful, confident, strong woman she has become!

And then another morning, I went to Zoe's for breakfast (also a first). Omelet with smoked salmon, asperagus and cream cheese equals almost to die for, really. I thought I would get too full to finish. This turned out to be false. I laughed the hardest with the friends I was visiting over this meal, as we discussed how crazy it is, not just that so many people we know are getting married (I actually found out 3 more of my friends got engaged while I was in Boston -in fact, I was having dinner with 2 of these friends when word and photos were received via crackberry regarding the third "fresh" engagement -madness indeed, but congrats all around of course!), but how ridiculous some of the websites that some engaged couples make for themselves are. We thought it would be particularly hilarious if the three of us girls made a "spoof" website with a play-by-play of the divorce (a la "this was the first straw" -with a photo of a faux-slap -and "this was the last straw" captions) of a polygamous lesbian marriage. Moreover, we thought it would be additionally funny to have a "hoodlink" to the site (a la Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up"), so that people actually think they're clicking on a link called "somethingconservative.com". Oh what a partay that was... =)

But back to food and drink. Believe it or not, but I had never been to Tealuxe before, so also tried that -what a quaint place with lovely blueberry white tea indeed (and with yet another sweet friend)! And catching up with friends -we talked about it all. Sex, boyfriends (or lack thereof), jobs (or lack thereof), med school (or lack thereof... i.e. waits and apps), philosophies on healthcare, medicine, history of medicine (again, or lack thereof... at least in our professional school programs, which is a tragedy in our humble opinions), food, reminiscings, life outside Harvard, life inside Harvard, life after Harvard, life at the end of Harvard (i.e. Commencement speakers past and future), good books, interesting ideas, dumb economies, amazing and crap and convoluted politics (is that just redundant?), good TV (i.e. the Food channel), good movies, great travel... I also visited briefly with a few of my professors which was wonderful.

So basically, I was a glutton over Easter -a glutton for conversation, food and general pleasure (including some shopping in bookstores, Downtown Crossing, Little Italy, and various "Squares" -Harvard, Central, Inman, etc -roaming around Boston and Cambridge, watching the magical and excellent-in-every-way foreign film "Faubourg 36" or "Paris 36" in Kendall Theatre on the one very rainy day, enjoying the company of a very attractive male, Harvard grad total stranger at 'Noch's over a mutual penchant for the spinach Sicilian pizza, hearing stories about the Aga Khan's visits to Afghanistan "When the King is Good, the Rain will Come" and how even in that arid, mountainous place, everytime he goes to visit, there is rain, even in the unlikliest of seasons...)

Luckily, I am not a Catholic, though, so I will not perish in purgatory (or is it perish in Hell and something else in purgatory?) for my indulgence. However, I did go to St. Paul's Catholic Church in Harvard Square on Good Friday (first time going to mass in Mass.) -I sure as heck chose quite a day to go! To call it "heavy" would be putting it lightly, although it was still an interesting and enjoyable experience... I've never heard "The Passion" read (or should I say "sung") like that before, so that was cool. Anyway. I can appreciate the beauties of other religions and forget the intolerances and ugly politics. Every religion's got 'em. But I firmly maintain there must be at least an infinity of paths to spiritual peace, enlightenment, God, the Universe... whatever it is you believe in. And if Science is your only God, then so be it. Just "live and let live" as the old cliche goes.

"The Revelation" (no prophets involved)

I leave you now with the following revelation that I had during my break:

If God came down and said that I could only be one thing in life, I would choose being a writer over being a doctor. But. I am blessed because in real life, I don't have to choose -I can have many passions and many things that bring me (and thus those around me) happiness. And working as a physician is still 1000% my calling. Just if my physical body were burned to ash, the essence left behind is a writer first. So in my life, I will write, and fall in love, and travel, and go to the ballet, and enjoy delicious food, and have a wonderful family, and pray, and read for pleasure, take hikes in Nature, maybe one day swim across a very large body of water, and also be a doctor and serve others the best that I can. If I could not do all of these things, I would not be whole and my life would not have meaning for me. It is my hope, prayer and intention that all these may manifest for myself and for anyone else who may desire these as well. And I thank all the forces that be in advance for doing their best by my dreams.

p.s. okay nerds, for anyone who was dying to know what those 12 cranial nerves from the mnemonic are: Optic, Olfactory, Occulomotor, Trochlear, Trigeminal, Abducens, Facial, Vestibulococchlear, Glossopharyngeal, Vagus, Accessory, Hypoglossal. see? you didn't really want to know did you.

Let's Play Doctor!

Really, it was good and it was so much fun!

Today I had my first mock-patient-interview at the McGill Simulation Center. Basically, McGill Medical School has hired a bunch of actors who pretend to be different patients, with various personal profiles, medical conditions, social / psychological issues, etc, so that doctors and nurses-in-training can practice doing the standard medical interview in a simulation before doing it on real people. Good chance to hone bedside manner, as well as learning how to get the critical information efficiently and effectively to better serve our future patients.

How it worked for us today:

• Stand behind closed door for 1 minute and read the paper with the patient's name, age and very basic profile (mine was "Phil Wilson is a 21-yr old law student")
• Then there's a voice that comes over the loudspeaker telling you to go in -you have 8 minutes to conduct the interview.
• The voice comes back on the speaker letting you know when there's 2 mintues left
• Once time is up or if you finish before, 2 of your peers who have been watching you through a double-sided mirror and listening to you with headsets, join you and the actor who was your patient in the room.
• You say how you think it went, your peers say how they think it went, and then the actor gives you probably the most important constructive feedback since they really know about all this from doing it all the time.
• Then each of your peers has a turn with a different patient, and you get to watch them on the other side of the double mirror (creepy, but effective).

It was amazing. Felt so real. And we all know I'm a bit Type A so I had prepared a little. Lots of it (and especially today because as first year med students, let's face it, we know very little medically-speaking) was really about whether or not we could draw out a narrative from the patient from a physical, social and personal perspective -"whole person care" -and make them feel comfortable and like they could trust us -"bedside manner". So I had written down a few lines on how I would go about my questioning in a logical and flowing manner: start with introducing myself, then ask the patient how they prefer to be called, then ask them what brought them into the clinic or hospital that day. Let them talk uninterrupted. Then back-track: when did it start? how much pain? where? the quality of the pain? how often and how frequent? anything that made it feel better or worse? what did the patient think may have caused it? Then go into the patient's medical history, medications, allergies, family history. Then ask them about their personal life, stressors, social life, occupation and (wait for it...) their sex life (gah! this last question remains the most uncomfortable / difficult one for me to ask).

K. So I had rehearsed all this in my head about 3 times before going to the SIM Ctr. And I was all professional in my shirt and tie. And I was sweating over whether I would get the most difficult patient-type ever, which for me would be the 'seductive patient'. You know that male patient that hits on you, makes you feel uncomfortable, asks inappropriate questions... I was like, "Please give me the crazy cranky old lady" or the pathological liar, or the hyper-active child... just not the sexy one who hits on you (it's worse if they are hot because if they are not, it's easier to more directly say things like "this is not appropriate" etc... otherwise I am bound to just passively ignore the flirtation a la "if i pretend it doesn't exist, then it doesn't exist").

And I mean today proved the following: I didn't get the 'seductive patient', but I definitely still got the young, very attractive patient, and I could not for the life of me ask him about his sex life (the closest I got was "so how are things in your personal life?"). Now actually, the fact that he was good-looking was not so bad because luckily he wasn't sooooooooooo hot that it was a distraction preventing me from focusing on my job. In fact, I got lots of positive feedback from the actor and my peers regarding professionalism, friendliness, putting the patient at ease / making him feel comfortable and that he could trust me, not being judgmental, sympathizing with him, reassuring him without making any false promises, etc... The actor even said that making him feel comfortable and not judged was really key since he was a young guy and I was a young woman doctor and he was embarrassed about his condition, but felt comfortable telling me more details about his symptoms, etc. But still, I failed on the 'difficult questions' front (i.e. sex and illicit drug use). You see, the fear of the seductive / attractive patient is actually a rather separate issue from the "tell me about your sexual activity"-question phobia. I don't know why I have such a hard time asking about this, even after telling myself "you're the almost-doctor, you're allowed to ask these questions, you need to ask these questions to help your patients" and even after hearing the actor say, "you're the doctor, you have the power, so don't be afraid to ask those difficult questions about sex and drugs, etc... because you need to know about it and patients will be okay telling you about it".

Still, I guess this is a hang-up I just need to work on. "What has your sexual activity been like lately? Do you sleep with men, women or both? Do you use protection? How many sexual partners have you had?" These questions are all inappropriate in a non-medical context when talking to a complete stranger. Put the white coat on and it's okay. Well, for me, right now, it doesn't quite matter yet whether I think "white coat" or "purple hat" or "pink slippers", I'm still just me, getting all up in their business and asking them about sex, sex, sex. Don't get me wrong, it is a fascinating topic for conversation, for reading, for writing, for movies and TV (don't we all hold our breath for that hot scene in "Cold Mountain", or "Sex and the City" or "Grey's Anatomy", or even Dagny's dramas with her lovers in one of the best novels of all-time, Atlas Shrugged, whose main theme, you should know, is not sex, but the sex is very lovely-ly depicted) and for euphemizing. But I'm sure I must have turned six shades of blush, just asking my faux-patient "how his personal life was going". What's wrong with me? We're not 12 anymore, you know.

You know, maybe it's because medicine is so existential though -like if you do anything wrong, even something that's a relative 'nothing' can become a matter of life and death. And sex must be the most ultimate expression of being alive in a sense, right (okay, fine, as a caveat, I guess we can also admit than any passion for that person is also the ultimate expression of their life energy)? And if illness can sometimes be almost-death (okay, fine, caveat #2, suffering may be the only way we know we're still alive and passionate and not dead...), then when your patient comes to you worried sick about their ability to express other forms of their aliveness -being able to go on with their life, in their occupation, in their studies, in sports, in moving from place to place, in their many other kinds of relationships -and then you ask them about how it is for them when it comes to expressing the ultimate act of aliveness, do you really want to hear that the problem or the sickness or debilitating-ness lies in the sex? Isn't this why STDs and STIs are so particularly scary? Because the act that should be the ultimate expression of life can be a death sentence, the ultimate tragic irony?

But maybe I'm philosophically way off too. Maybe I am just euphemizing again (and I do this quite well, so don't be fooled people). Maybe sometimes we're just 12 and we're in denial about it.