Gif heavy post about how the whole universe is made of magic, and also my medical school is the best one.

Yeah, so, school started this week:

After a week of orientation, I now know the following things:

1.  My classmates are rad.  I went to a social thing last night at a dance club, and realized that I was sitting at a table with some funny, brilliant, down to earth people.  When you meet a group of people who have the same sense of humor that you do, the rest of it - age difference, cultural differences, political differences - will not be nearly as much of a barrier.  Doesn't hurt if they're deep thinkers and creative, too.  I feel like such a dork saying this, but I am so happy that I get to spend the next four years with these people.  I'm looking forward to going to hang out with them on Monday at school.  I want to babysit their future offspring and go to their future weddings.  In case you don't know me well enough to understand the gravity of what I just said... THAT RIGHT THERE IS DEEP.  It is a rare child that I'm willing to spend more than 1 hour of unsupervised time with unless they're besties with my kids.  I don't go to weddings anymore.

To sum up...

2.  Yesterday I called the Dean of Students.  He answered, "Hello, Shemena!" on the first ring.  I texted a picture of my cat hissing at my dog to the chair of our clinic course, she texted back, "NICE."  She was also wearing Doc Marten's.  We get told about 200 times a day from every single person who works there that "THE DOOR IS ALWAYS OPEN."  The security guards will drive me home if I need them to.  Also, they already remember my kid's names.  So basically, what I'm trying to say here is that the administration, faculty  and staff are real people, invested in our well being as human beings, and from what I've heard from the 2nd and 3rd years, this is not bullshit.  They are the happiest (and most insanely successful) medical students I've ever met in my life.  I heard that one of the top Step 1 scores this year came from our school, and the average (so far - not all of the scores are in) is unbelievably high.  

While the way that they teach medicine probably has a lot to do with this, I think just as importantly, these are a group of students who aren't competing, and aren't as stressed about their outside lives because the administration recognizes (and has emphasized all week) that we have outside lives, and those lives sometimes must take precedence, and that doesn't reflect on you as a person or a professional.  Not to say that they don't expect professionalism - you best answer your emails and treat them with respect, or you will end up in front of the promotions committee.  But not once have I gotten the message that if my kids are sick or need my help, tough shit, suck it up, you're on your own.

3.  The policies about promotion and appeal are liberal, clearly defined, discussed often, and I would have never had to leave the other medical school if they'd had the same policies.  Has that created huge slackers who will be horrible doctors?  UM NO.  Cleeeearly not the case.  If you keep your students engaged, happy, healthy and motivated, you don't need draconian policies to prove that you're a rigorous medical school.

4.  A majority of our education comes out of active learning groups, where they give you a case, you go home and research it, you talk it out with a small group of people and some facilitators, and try to hit the learning objectives.  

I already completed one case in the week before school actually started as part of a pre-matriculation course I took, and all I can say is that everything I learned in there actually stuck.  And I learned a LOT.  Bilirubin cycle; labs used and their meaning; treatment; liver enzymes; cholesystitis; blood cell cycle and causes for hemolysis; autosomal dominance vs. compound heterozygous genetic disorders; liver blood flow and basic hepatocyte structure and functions; cell membranes and proteins.  I learned all of that in 4 hours of discussion time, and maybe 4 hours of study time, and it was fascinating the whole time.  I killed it, btw.  

I need to take my kids to the aquarium now.  It'll be interesting to read this a year (or three) from now.  But right this second, it's all like:

15 Days

The older I get, the harder it is to write.  I don't know what this is.  I mean, certainly I'm pretty damn busy right now, and I don't have a lot of time to process stuff, let alone write.  But it's not just that.  Lately I've been feeling kind of selfish(secretive) about my interior life. I don't want to share right now.  Sometimes sharing feels like asking - for permission, advice, assurance that everything will be ok - and I don't need any of those things right now.  Like, if you want to tell me how I can get my giant puppy to stop treating my kids like chew toys, feel free to comment below.  But mostly what I have to say is, "I'm content."  The rest of it?  I don't know.  I feel like I just have to get up in the morning, do my best, and then go to bed at night.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  I don't really want to spend energy or time on what it all means, because actually, it probably doesn't mean anything.

So yes, my posts are going to probably sound more like news letters, at least until this passes.  Probably the deepest thing I'm willing to share right now is how overwhelming humanity is in a big city.  THERE ARE SO MANY OF US.  Maybe that's what it is, why I'm so shhhhhhh?  SO MANY PEOPLE.  All of us with our own dramas, this cacophony of thoughts, opinions, tragedies.  I take the dog for a walk, and there are strangers in a house with the door open, just watching the TV, and I am totally overwhelmed with the idea that they have all these things happening.  Work, love, death, new babies.  All of these stories.  Just a few people sitting in one house, my intersection into their lives as tangential as you can make it, and I'm a little overwhelmed by the muchness of it.

I know that overwhelmed feeling is making it hard for me to reach out and make friends - there are too many variables in all these new stories.  If I learned anything in Madison (and oh, I learned so much), it's that friendship is dangerous business and I need to use care in deciding who gets access to me and my family.  I really miss being able to say, "I like you, let's be friends," but when I do that without considering how their stories could fuck with our story, it often ends badly. And right now, I'm reeeeeally loving our story, and I want to give it a chance to unfold, and have it's own drama, and not be subsumed by anyone else.

And like, I know that this is a hallmark of my declination into brittle old age, and it's probably cowardly, and I get it that my kids will bring people, and school will bring people, and so will my husband (I hope), and those are not things I will have a choice about.  But oh, what a magical thing to be new, and have the option of leaving the future wide open.  That's part of it, too.  We have so many options, such a giant opportunity to create what we want in our lives.  Temporary loneliness isn't a huge price to pay for that.  And also, I have friends, although they aren't here, and they are wonderful.  Can't even say that I'm lonely.   That said, here are some things I'm happy to share...

School starts in 15 days.

I need to start going to yoga regularly, now that the house is pretty much unpacked.

 MY DOG.

MY CHILDREN (sooooo happy!)

 Seriously, I need to start some ruts, this is ridiculous, my life is barely real. 

I love my house.

Husband person went to Italy to present at a conference last week.  I now officially own mohair from Italy.  Thanks, babe.

Philadelphia is my favorite now, but I probably miss you.

Dog, Fish, Bridge and the Swimmo - 35 Days

Because everything feels so so so unreal right now, I haven't wanted to post anything.  It all feels like an elaborate lie to me.  I never, ever thought that I would have the life I have right now.

We live in a beautiful apartment that overlooks the Delaware, and the Ben Franklin Bridge is just chilling there outside my upstairs windows.  Our house is modern, spacious and flooded with natural light all day long.  We are almost completely unpacked, and what gets me is that our eclectic mishmash of furniture looks almost like it's been holding it's breath to be here.  Things that looked drab before look like they were carefully selected for the space they inhabit now.  Our things fit here, because we fit here.

We have a gorgeous Great Dane puppy who's sole job is to introduce us to our neighbors, who have been kind and open in accepting us into their hood.  They hang out on their stoops instead of their back yards, and so everyone knows everyone in a way that no one in our last neighborhood did.  Every morning, Cocomaus plays with her dog friend Emmett on the sidewalk, and J (Emmett's human) and I drink coffee and talk about whatever springs to mind.  She's still being potty trained, and she's still learning manners.  But honestly, she's incredibly jovial, flexible and easy to train.

D has a great private school, A is still in flux, but services are starting to roll for him and I feel like everything is going to be ok there.  They'll start summer camp next week.  They've already started free swimming lessons at the Swimmo, the public pool that is literally across the street.  There is so much for them to do here that I doubt we will ever see all of it before we leave for residency.

I start school for real in 35 days.  I start my summer program in a week.   Here's where I gotta get real with everyone.  The next eight years of my life will be physically and emotionally some of the hardest years I've ever had.  Here comes the math.  Each week has 168 hours in it.  I need an average of 6 hours of sleep every night or I go tharn, so 168 - 42 = 126.  I've promised the kids a measly 20 hours of my time/week, so that leaves 106 hours.  Commuting with take another 6 hours, leaving me with 100 hours.  I'll need to do at least 5 hours of exercise per week, so that's 95 hours left.  And I know this for a fact:  School itself will take up 80 hours of each week, more if there are exams.  Yep, lots of people can get away with less, goody for them.  That leaves me 15 hours to shower, eat, write, drink coffee, stare into space, have husband time, walk my dog, do laundry, clean the bathroom, grocery shop, go to parent/teacher conferences, help with homework, pay the bills, decide what to wear every day and talk to friends and family.

From my previous experience, I know that some of my friends will think I'm a selfish douche because I can't spend an hour hashing over their relationship issues.  And I know that some members of my family will believe that I don't love them anymore because I seldom call.  Some people will think I'm a horrible parent, or a stuck up, self absorbed bitch.  The last time, I took all that to heart and tried to accommodate everyone because mostly, I didn't want you to think badly of me and I didn't want you to feel bad, either.  This time I won't.  I'm trying to be a physician to people who need it the most.  I'm trying to change the face of healthcare.  The only way to do that is to have my life be subsumed by my education. and therefore be a person interrupted.  If you ask for more than I can give, you won't get it and I won't apologize.  I'm not being cold.  I'm doing what I came here to do.  I'm doing the thing that makes me feel completely alive.

There are fish everywhere - engraved in the sidewalks, hanging from doorways.  I love this place. 

The Price of Things - 14 Days

There was a time when I was a kid, like a really, really long time, where I felt like I didn't belong on the planet and had been dropped off here by accident.  Then I remember looking into the sky when I was four, earnestly believing that I must have been put here on purpose, and that my people would come and pick me up once I'd completed my mission.  I just wanted them to drop by, maybe fix the things that were malfunctioning in my machinery.  (I was also convinced that I was probably a robot.)

In my defense, I was reeeeally into Star Trek and all things science fiction - I built a model of the Enterprise when I was 8, and was obsessed with "A Wrinkle in Time," and thought time travel would be like cars by the time I grew up.  I am still mourning the fact that this is not a reality. And now watching my older son play ninja or wizard in the back yard has convinced me that if my behavior wasn't normal, it was most certainly genetic.  He is completely convinced of his ninja wizard skills.  He believes he has power over all the things in his environment.  Today he told me he wanted to make liquid Mercury safe to drink, so that the fish wouldn't be poisoned, and also that he wanted to invent a machine that could make you invisible.  I bet he'll do it, too.

Maybe the outer space robot thing was really a coping mechanism so that I could explain how vastly divergent my mother's perception of reality was from my own.  What ever that was, that sensation of being a stranger and an imposter with a purpose has never really left me.  I'm no longer convinced that I'm a (broken) android left here by negligent space aliens, but that feeling that my differences and purpose for inhabiting space on this planet are tied together, that still lingers.

So why I bring this up is because yesterday I had a remarkable conversation about how difficult and maybe even impossible it can be to speak about the truth of one's experience in an academic setting if it doesn't comply with the dominant cultural paradigm.  This is especially true here in the Midwest.  I've lived here for five years now, and most of that time has been spent measuring my words, my tone and my intent very carefully.  It's been pretty much a waste of time, which has led me to question my perception of my own experience - essentially, my sanity and my worth as a human being.  Yesterday, I met someone from the East Coast who has had the same experience and it occurred to us both at the same time that a) this is the definition of oppression, and b) what's going on here is pretty much equivalent to institutional gas lighting. 

I live in a county that has an illustrious reputation for education.  As a friend so succinctly put it today, this Midwestern University is the ivoriest of ivory towers.  But the education offered here is not tied to the experience of living, and in fact, resists and discourages those ties.  The result is devastating to the community it serves.  This county has the worst racial disparities in the entire country, I believe in part because those in power - those who were raised and educated here - have not been taught how to make their educations relevant to their communities.  In fact, those people who don't exist in the academic world aren't even counted as members of their communities.  I don't believe this is intentional, but intent in this case doesn't matter.  As another friend said today, "It's no different from a caste system, and those at the bottom have no choice but to accept their fate if those at the top have no choice, either."

The woman I met yesterday has already given up.  She came here to be a part of the solution, but the price is too high.  I feel her.  And opening this dialog up to friends has made me realize that there are so many of us who feel her, too.  All of us are over-educated and should, in theory, be included in any academic community.  But our life experiences - homelessness, teen pregnancy, addictions, minority status, poverty - have informed us more than what our tuition bought us, and means nothing to those who could make real changes.

This is something I've known all along, but right now, I feel empowered in a way that I haven't felt in many years.  I'm not alone, and I'm not crazy, and what I've lived through has tangible value.  But speaking truth to power has cost me dearly, and other people I love have paid an immeasurable and personal price, too.  Owning the value of our experiences over the value of our education, and using it to change the power structure will exact a lifelong price, and I think this is the take home message.  It takes huge stones and unflagging commitment and a willingness to withstand heartbreak and discomfort to pay that price over and over again.  But where you spend it, that's what makes all the difference, yes?

48 Days

Philadelphia was amazing.  East Coast Medical School?  Also amazing.  I mean that in the literal sense.  I spent 6 days feeling happystunned.  We saw a lot of apartments, and got to know the city enough for me to have a sense of how to go East, West, North and South.  This is something I never figured out in Small Midwest City, and something that's been a thorn in my side the whole time I've been here.  The kids loved it, and were rock stars the whole time we were there. 

What was particularly gratifying was how comfortable I was everywhere I went.  My social anxiety was still there - it always will be, I think - but it was manageable.  People were kind, and the people at my school had the same dorktastic way of being in the world that I do. 

Our neighborhood is described as "up and coming," (read: gentrifying).  Our condo is brand-spanking-new and very modern - premuch the opposite of where we're living right now.  Do I feel weird about being part of a gentrification problem?  Yes, yes I do.  More on that when I've thought it through.  But I like the neighborhood, and it genuinely inspires me on a lot of different levels.  I think we'll be really happy there.

Happy is an emotion this whole family is exploring, and it is such a relief. Here, let's nerd out on it for a minute.

Prayer.

We're going to Philadelphia for a little less than a week to look around, get oriented, visit the school, maybe buy a place.  I'm excited, but as the days tick down, some of the anxiety is creeping in, too.  All I can do right now is holster up, put on my pants-of-bad-ass and put the intention out that I want this to work.

I want out of here.  Five years here was far too long for my psyche, and I think it fundamentally changed the person I am in some pretty unflattering ways.  Being here made me desperate, and worse, comfortable with that emotion.  I have, at times, been lonely beyond comprehension.  And then I became bitter and intolerant, and I don't even know if I know how to be soft and brave about myself anymore.  I've tasted real hatred here, and haven't found a way to put it down entirely.

So I'm looking forward to becoming more outward reaching again.  One of the required things at my new school is weekly service to the community that is not medically related.  Two hours a week.  I'm already maxed out, so at first this requirement - even though I understand and agree with its purpose - gave me pause.  It's two hours away from my family, and away from the other things I enjoy doing.  But now I look forward to it with a feeling of relief.  It's a chance to expand and engage in the world, and to give away parts of myself that are meant to be given away.  I miss that.  I miss doing that, and I miss being that kind of person.  The worst part, the thing that causes me the most shame, is how selfish I became.  You know how foot fungus will grow into your nail bed, and you won't notice until BAM, now your toenail is falling off and, well, that escalated quickly.  That's how I became a selfish prick.

My back hurts today, because I got a big part of my tattoo finished on Saturday.  A black wing peeks out of the collar of my t-shirt now.  I think I would have gone crazy in these last few months if I hadn't had something like that to obsess on and look forward to.  I only have one more sitting to go. 

I played the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata on the baby grand in the atrium at Midwest Medical School, and only made one little mistake.  It felt like I was taking a test. 

The dental surgery is almost done, too.  One more, and that journey will pretty much be over. 

I take motorcycle lessons in May. 

Our house sale closes tomorrow.  Our bills will be entirely paid the next day. 

And then we go to Philadelphia...

Turn the page. 

I am right now in a massive process of preparing for the rest of my life, I think.  Yoga, tattoos, putting down the cigarettes for good and forever, daring myself to be as agile both mentally and physically as I was 20 years ago.  It's hard, though, because I feel old age's breath on the back of my neck, and I can see it in my face.  All that hardness that I learned here makes my bones crack, gives me a dowagers hump, sets the black circles in place for all time.  It siphons away my dignity, too, and what sucks about that is that it's a choice I'm making.  I don't want to feel humiliated anymore, or worn down by the demands of thoughtless people.  Being stiff is a good way to do that.

All of this relentless anger and frustration is killing me, the who I am.  I need restoration at the hands of solid - not stiff- people. 

In Defense of What I Think, and also, Why Powerful Women Don't Hang Out With You.

True Story.

It's not that I haven't been writing.  I have been, but most of what's been written hasn't succumbed to careful revision.  I have things to say, but most of it is the kind of stuff that people just don't say out loud.  I feel like I need to be careful with my words, particularly when I write about my experience of being female.  I feel the urge to counter each potential criticism and/or dismissal of my experience of the world before it's even raised.  But it occurred to me the other day that the most potent defense I can make is that my experience is mine in the same way that my body is mine.  You can judge it, you can believe that you wouldn't feel/react/experience the world in the same way if you were in the same position, and you might be right, and you're free to do that.  But the second you feel compelled to devalue me or dismiss me, feel free to stop reading and not come back. because seriously.

I kind of like how this just keeps repeating in the background in an infinite loop...

Ok, so now that we've established that.

I keep having this conversation with a few of my friends, and I've been having it for years, (at least since my early 30's), and it's about loneliness.  Deep, crushing loneliness.  This kind of loneliness:

I love gifs.  I'm coming to believe they're a kind of art form.  I digress.

Ok, so here are some patterns I've noticed about these conversations.   I only have them with a certain kind of woman (never dudes).  All of these women have achieved a lot in their life, and give their all to what they are and do.  They run marathons; they do mind-blowing, courageous art; they are dedicated and intense; and they'll do things other people won't because they're confident in their skills and intelligence.  They tend to speak their mind and believe what they say.  Most of them are gorgeous, too.

In other words... they're intimidating as fuck to a lot of people.

I am only marginally one of those women, and if I do share certain qualities with them, it isn't because I was born with them.  I learned how to be less fearful and more dedicated to the things I invest my time in from other women who were like that.  For the longest time, I had no idea why women like that would want to hang out with an insecure, unskilled, mildly insane person like me.  However, as time has gone by and I've gained my own measure of success, both personally and professionally, I think I'm starting to get it...Those ladies hang out with me because I enjoy hanging out with them.  Personally, I don't understand why anyone wouldn't want to, even if they are intimidating.

I remember once posting a particularly nice picture of myself on facebook, and someone in my age group (a dude!) made a comment saying that I should stop posting pics like that, because it made them feel bad about aging like a normal person.  Another friend in my age group (a lady!) said, "No, keep posting those pics!  You're increasing the property value for the rest of us!"  (I didn't take down the pic, and wouldn't have anyway, because that's just... why would I do that?)

THERE.  That's the conversation I keep having with these amazing women in a nutshell.  They don't understand why you don't want to hang out with them either, but actually, we all do, don't we? Those ladies aren't confident in a way that makes us confident, so they're arrogant.  They keep not capitulating in going after their highest purpose, even though that makes you question your very existence and kicks you in the feels, so they're insensitive.  They are especially insensitive when they try to talk you out of your dedication to mediocrity and laziness.  And they're pretty, so they're also huge whores.  Who would want to hang out with that mess?

And it's not like these ladies haven't tried to change.  They have.  They don't talk about their successes around you.  They try to amplify their flaws, they question every motive, they go overboard trying to protect your light-sensitive eyes from their torch.  They are masters at hiding who they are while still trying to be who they are because they intrinsically have to be.

The punishment for being who they really are is shunning, and that is a horrifying place to be for any woman.  We aren't socialized to be alone, and it's not practical to be alone when you're doing potentially life ending things like having babies or living in Wisconsin in January.  But after a while, and after a woman like that has made her money and achieved other kinds of social buffers, that woman stops giving a shit about you.  And that's a shame, too, because that's maybe the point where the rest of us need her to mentor us the most, after she's fully come into her own.

And in the meantime, we have to wonder who she would have been if she hadn't spent so much time worrying about how you feel.

And here's another thing that I've learned from them... I am one of them.  Having these women in my life has given me the impetus to try to find my own limits.  I don't compare myself to them, which has led to real self-acceptance, but I've also surprised the shit out of myself because it turns out that I'm capable of so much more than I thought I was.  But I, too, have had to pay a price for actually living an inspirational quotes Pinterst board in real life.  I don't have as many friends.  New friendships take longer, and are fraught with mine fields.  As a consequence, I am willing to hang with the people who are willing to hang with me, warts and all.  The upside seems to be that although there aren't as many people in my life, the ones who are left are exceptional.  I'll take it.