I have done most of the things I had intended to do today, and the things that I have not done (sigh) I have decided to be worthy of procrastination. So here I am, blogging.
This morning, I went to pick up one of our pastors from the airport, at the request his family, who were unfortunately unable to greet him themselves. The entire thing was rather uneventful - we came, we picked up, we left. (By we, I meant me, and the pastor's 16-year-old son, who accompanied me.)
The reason I am blogging about it (apart from the fact that I am bored), is that speaking to this man reminded me of what C. S. Lewis called 'people who have their eyes set firmly upon heaven.' Indeed this man has his eyes and heart set firmly up there. I don't know him well, he only comes to Australia once in a while to preach to our church... he usually lives in Taiwan where he is the pastor of another church.
Upon leaving the airport, I said: "And there's the traffic again..." to which this pastor quickly said: "If there is lots of traffic, it means the economy is booming, and the government will soon build new roads. It's a blessed thing, if you look at it that way. Imagine if the streets were empty - we'd never get new roads..." I was very surprised by this postulation - this level of optimism can only be from the truly blessed (after all, we get traffic jams everyday without road upgrades in sight). I declined to suggest that if the streets were empty we'd never need new roads, and kept driving.
We were coming down Hale street, approaching Coronation Drive, when he suddenly asked me: "Sida, what is your role in spreading the Gospel to China?" ... There was a silence as I tried to think of what to say very quickly. At the same time, I knew the 16 year old beside me was suddenly rather embarrassed and was also thinking of what to say. Finally, we both spoke.
"Dad, she is only young..." said the 16 year old, 4 years younger than me.
"Um. I am not sure..." said I. "I don't think I am considering returning to China anytime soon. If at all."
"Ahaha," he laughed nervously, aware that he'd put me on the spot. There was a silence. "The Gospel need to be preached in China," he said, finally.
"Of course" said I.
Upon more questioning, it was revealed that he is heavily involved with evangelical efforts in China, their organisation has trained recently some 200 Chinese men and women who were able to spread the Word in China. These operations had to be done in secret, for fear of persecution (reminds me a little of movies..). In fact, a finishing-school had recently been built that churns out preachers... a sort of seminary, which of course is not called a seminary, not officially anyhow. He told me that he envisions China to one day have so many Christians that it would be able send missionaries elsewhere. "The British and the Americans have had their turn - this is now the century of the Chinese."
This sort of vision... well, it has all the characteristics of the vision that starts off great things. It is vast, grandiose, ambitious, and sufficiently unlikely for it to be scoffed at. This is the sort of visions that says to all other visions: "pfffft, you? you're not a vision, I'm a vision! You're a daydream!"
The topic was not pursued further, but I felt very guilty for not having shared in that vision. I guess my future plans involve working in medical aid with a missionary movement in third-world countries, but it did not occur to me to mention this - and I am glad. My plans, even now, sound flimsy and superficial.
Why do I not like the idea of working and spreading the Gospel in China? Why do I prefer the idea of Cambodia or India or Africa? I guess, for one thing, it's the prospect of exoticness - after all, I've been to China, I know what China is like. The other thing I think is the language barrier. I left China when I was 9, so I have the communication skills (in Chinese) of a 9-year-old. Well, perhaps a little better than that... but not much better. I have enough problems explaining my faith in English, the thought of using Chinese gives me headaches. In Cambodia, if you can't speak the local language, it is an inconvenience. In China, if you can speak the local language and yet the locals have no idea what you are on about - then you are an imbecile.
On the other hand, I can speak Chinese, and I can read about 80% of the written word (with my finger under the line and with a great deal of concentration). Perhaps that is where I ought to go. In the end, God will show me where I fit in His plan.
I just hope it doesn't involve China.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
A funny excerpt:
"Most medical students faced with giving their interpretation of a chest X-ray either opt for a 'spot diagnosis' (usually wrong) or raise their eyes to heaven, hoping for divine inspiration. However, a systematic approach is generally more useful!"
- From Clinical Examination: a systematic guide to physical diagnosis by Nicholas J Talley and Simon O'Connor.
Funnily enough, as a radiographer, I know something of the systematic approach. If put on the spot by a clinical tutor, I may well hope for divine inspiration. Despite the two, I will probably still come up with a 'spot diagnosis' that is incorrect.
In the words of a friend: "we live and learn."
- From Clinical Examination: a systematic guide to physical diagnosis by Nicholas J Talley and Simon O'Connor.
Funnily enough, as a radiographer, I know something of the systematic approach. If put on the spot by a clinical tutor, I may well hope for divine inspiration. Despite the two, I will probably still come up with a 'spot diagnosis' that is incorrect.
In the words of a friend: "we live and learn."
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
On maturity
Recently, a good friend asked me, across MSN: "Sida, when will we ever mature?" This question was asked during the time that I was cramming for my exam and I knew she was busy doing some gigantic assignment. My thoughts ran thus:
- Soo sleeppyyy... whyyyy is she asking this me now? at this time? How on earth did she come up with this?
- Hey! What did she mean, when will "WE" mature!
- Lord, help me to answer my friend's question with Your wisdom, help me to address my friend's concerns
- Hey! Why did you only remember the Lord at thought number 3? Are you loosing it?!
By thought four, I had sufficiently awoken myself to attempt a serious conversation with my friend. We considered what "maturity" meant to us, and discovered that our thoughts ran more or less along similar lines. Neither of us were capable of a succinct definition but we could both point out to characteristics of maturity in others, that we knew we lacked. She pointed out to her friends, who were capable of great self-discipline despite working long hours, and who seemed to be capable of working with an attitude of good cheer. I thought of some of my fellow Christians, who seemed to be able to take all difficulty in a matter-of-fact, uncomplaining sort of way, always trusting God. You never hear them complaining about anything. Our discussion ended with a consensus that we both had no idea. I think I said something about not knowing when I will mature but trusting God to use me all the same (this sounded very good, but says nothing about my own impatience with myself). Being a non-Christian and also being distracted with a gigantic assignment, she replied with something along the lines of: "mmmmmm".
Now that I have had time to think, if we were to look for the characteristics of a mature person, one need not look further than the good Lord Himself. One thing that struck me the most is Matthew 14:12-14, which describes Jesus's actions after hearing the death of John the Baptist. "When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick." The actual number of the crowd was five thousand, besides women and children (Matthew 14:21).
I can imagine how I would feel, in that situation: my friend has been killed brutally, I wanted to retire to somewhere quiet to pray and mourn... and there's the crowd again, five thousand this time... same as usual - with all sorts of infirmities, pushing forward, each wanting attention, each wanting to just grab at my robe. I can not say what I would have done, but I can imagine myself complaining, even if just privately to my friends. This is the maturity that I lack: the matter-of-fact way that I see my friends go through their daily lives, balancing work with ministry with family, and yet never complaining and always trusting in the Lord.
A few days after I'd decided to reprimand for my lack of maturity, I was reading Habakkuk when I realised that it less about "never complaining" and more about "always trusting". Habakkuk 1:3 says: Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrong? Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and conflict abounds.
In fact, I can remember several other instances of 'complaints' in the bible, from the biblical greats: - Moses, Jeremiah, David in countless psalms, Job, Elijah, Jonah... and I'm sure that those who are more theologically minded can think of others too. What is important to note, though, that in all these prophets who made 'complaints', they ended up trusting God nevertheless a few verses down the track. I guess Christian maturity is more about trust and faith than anything else.
Trust and faith - so simple. This whole blog entry comes down to simply trust and faith. But as I progress in my pilgrimage (so to speak), I encounter trials that test these simple things, such that I want to cry louder than all the prophets (and the lamenters from Lamentations) put together. I guess it's heartening to know that it is OK to do that, as long as (to quote from the bible, Lamentations 3:24) I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Post-exam blues
On Post-exam depression
The exam was bad. I don't want to talk about it... but I think I should have been more organised with my studying and perhaps approached a different way... anyway I'm not going to think too much about it until the exam results come out. It is sufficient to say that perhaps it is the worst exam I have ever sat. At least with the Gamsat, it was ok to do badly because everyone does badly.
Immediately afterwards, I went to a shopping centre to comfort myself with the latest fashion, only to discover that I am now too old for the latest fashion (either that, or I am too sane to wear it). I went to disrupt a friend at his workplace, but immediately guilt added itself to my general bad-mood, as I realised that I was disrupting someone at their work. I picked up my brother from school, and he had nothing comforting to say but "Well, we'll have to wait and see. Are you still buying me dinner?" (Although later, to his credit, he said "If you're so smart, and failed that exam, I don't know how all those doctors became doctors." Not bad coming from a nine-year-old.)
Fast forward to Saturday, I didn't have work. My mum said: "I'm taking your brother to art class, then we can go shopping."
"Don't wanna shop", said I.
"What are you going to do at home?" at the time I was still sitting in bed, albeit reading a book.
"Dunno..."
"You're not going to just sit around and mope all day, are you?" My mum was getting worried now
I kept silent at this point, putting faith into the view that if you ignore them, they will go away. It doesn't always work, but it works enough to always try it.
"You're not going to just sit around and mope until you get the results, are you?" she repeated.
"Yes"
At this point, my mum set her jaw and said: "No, you are coming shopping with me." (Actually, she doesn't have the kind of jaw that you can set. But believe me, if she had that kind of jaw, then she would have set it at the point.)
My mum believes in a sort of cleansing after a traumatic event. A literal sort of cleansing. After my exam, I gave my study room a cursory sort of clean-up, putting my exam notes in a pile under my desk. I felt nauseous at the sight of them, and I thought that I will sort them out after I get the results.
I was sleeping when I heard the banging, and I knew it came from my study room. In it was my dear mother, with a big broom, and a big pile of dirt, scrunched up paper, and, yes, my exam notes, sprawled among the other stuff. "I have swept everything that is on the floor into this pile. I even reached under the desk and shelves. I want you to take out what is important and then sweep everything else up." I guess that is one way to face your phobia of study notes... On her way down stairs, my dear mother said: "Oh, I am also going to do some washing for you. I want you to empty your closet of all the things you should have washed. And be quick about it, I don't have all day."
This, I knew, was part of my mum's way of literal cleansing, but I had nothing particular that needed washing, that wasn't already in the laundry. But I knew my mother... if I told her that she will storm into my room and no doubt the drawers will yield a dirty sock and some shirts that I should have hung up but 'forgot' to do. I knew from experience that the easiest thing was to appease my mother with a few socks and some pyjamas, regardless of whether they needed washing or not. Then she left me alone to my moping.
Actually, I realised that I spend more time talking about moping than I actually do mope. The reason is that, when I am by myself, I try anything to take my mind off things. But the result is that all my friends seem to be a bit worried about me. I'm ok, really, I just complain a lot.
Just realised that this blog entry seemed to complain more about my dearest mother than about that exam. I hope she never reads this.
The exam was bad. I don't want to talk about it... but I think I should have been more organised with my studying and perhaps approached a different way... anyway I'm not going to think too much about it until the exam results come out. It is sufficient to say that perhaps it is the worst exam I have ever sat. At least with the Gamsat, it was ok to do badly because everyone does badly.
Immediately afterwards, I went to a shopping centre to comfort myself with the latest fashion, only to discover that I am now too old for the latest fashion (either that, or I am too sane to wear it). I went to disrupt a friend at his workplace, but immediately guilt added itself to my general bad-mood, as I realised that I was disrupting someone at their work. I picked up my brother from school, and he had nothing comforting to say but "Well, we'll have to wait and see. Are you still buying me dinner?" (Although later, to his credit, he said "If you're so smart, and failed that exam, I don't know how all those doctors became doctors." Not bad coming from a nine-year-old.)
Fast forward to Saturday, I didn't have work. My mum said: "I'm taking your brother to art class, then we can go shopping."
"Don't wanna shop", said I.
"What are you going to do at home?" at the time I was still sitting in bed, albeit reading a book.
"Dunno..."
"You're not going to just sit around and mope all day, are you?" My mum was getting worried now
I kept silent at this point, putting faith into the view that if you ignore them, they will go away. It doesn't always work, but it works enough to always try it.
"You're not going to just sit around and mope until you get the results, are you?" she repeated.
"Yes"
At this point, my mum set her jaw and said: "No, you are coming shopping with me." (Actually, she doesn't have the kind of jaw that you can set. But believe me, if she had that kind of jaw, then she would have set it at the point.)
My mum believes in a sort of cleansing after a traumatic event. A literal sort of cleansing. After my exam, I gave my study room a cursory sort of clean-up, putting my exam notes in a pile under my desk. I felt nauseous at the sight of them, and I thought that I will sort them out after I get the results.
I was sleeping when I heard the banging, and I knew it came from my study room. In it was my dear mother, with a big broom, and a big pile of dirt, scrunched up paper, and, yes, my exam notes, sprawled among the other stuff. "I have swept everything that is on the floor into this pile. I even reached under the desk and shelves. I want you to take out what is important and then sweep everything else up." I guess that is one way to face your phobia of study notes... On her way down stairs, my dear mother said: "Oh, I am also going to do some washing for you. I want you to empty your closet of all the things you should have washed. And be quick about it, I don't have all day."
This, I knew, was part of my mum's way of literal cleansing, but I had nothing particular that needed washing, that wasn't already in the laundry. But I knew my mother... if I told her that she will storm into my room and no doubt the drawers will yield a dirty sock and some shirts that I should have hung up but 'forgot' to do. I knew from experience that the easiest thing was to appease my mother with a few socks and some pyjamas, regardless of whether they needed washing or not. Then she left me alone to my moping.
Actually, I realised that I spend more time talking about moping than I actually do mope. The reason is that, when I am by myself, I try anything to take my mind off things. But the result is that all my friends seem to be a bit worried about me. I'm ok, really, I just complain a lot.
Just realised that this blog entry seemed to complain more about my dearest mother than about that exam. I hope she never reads this.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Top 5 things to do immediately after exam:
Sida's top 5 things to do after I complete that damned exam coming up on Thursday:
- SLEEP!
- SLEEP more!
- keep sleeping...!
- maybe go see Shrek with my brother... then sleep some more...
- go shopping! Then sleep...
As you can probably see, I am really tired right now, and I'm just so over this exam.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Euphoria explained
Study-induced Euphoria: where, after 6 or 7 hours of intense cramming non-stop, the student feels a feeling of intense euphoria. There is a feeling of light-headedness, whereby the student finds everything amusing, and will happily sit and giggle at the world. This has been likened to the euphoric feeling of drunkeness, and indeed the student is unfit to drive or dial. More aptly, it can be likened to the psychotic feeling of lightness that a person may feel, if that person were heading for the gallows.
Worship-induced Euphoria: where, after worship, the person feels a lightness of being, general happiness, and invincibility. Unlike Study-induced Euphoria, the person does not feel psychotic. Although this is generally a good thing, it can be slightly dangerous if the person is driving. At hearing a worship song on the radio, a worshipper may sing out loud. The feeling of indestructability may induce irratic behaviour.
Worship-induced Euphoria: where, after worship, the person feels a lightness of being, general happiness, and invincibility. Unlike Study-induced Euphoria, the person does not feel psychotic. Although this is generally a good thing, it can be slightly dangerous if the person is driving. At hearing a worship song on the radio, a worshipper may sing out loud. The feeling of indestructability may induce irratic behaviour.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Time to buy a bikini...
They said to us, in the first week or so: "You will meet some amazing people, develope some amazing friendships, that will last the rest of your lives. Because you do everything together, you will get to know your PBL group really well..."
I underestimated that last statement. Allow me to explain. We need to learn certain things involving the chest - for example, listening to breath sounds, heart beats, taking ECG's, etc etc. We learn to do these things on our peers, which means one guy from the group takes off his shirt and the rest of us poke and prod and then he has a go on someone else, usually another guy. But, sooner of later, one needs to learn to listen to female chests too, which is why sometimes girls wear a bikini top and the guys practice on us. Well, that is how it is supposed to go in theory. In the end, when we get assessed, we don't know whether our 'patient' is male or female.
I don't actually own a bikini top. In fact, the only time my shoulders ever see the light of day is when I am at home, or when I am wearing my one-piece. I had been meaning to go buy a bikini, but I keep forgetting, and I don't actually know how you would go about buying one anyway. How does the sizing work?
So anyway, this morning, at 6.30am, I woke up and thought: crap, we have respiratory assessment today. I don't have a bikini. I need something without underwire. Rummaging through my drawer (in a rush, as usual), I come up with the only bra I own that doesn't have underwire. It's old, it's got fluff all over it, and looks strangely mangled. Somehow, in the early-morning-fuzzy state that my brain was in, I thought: it will do.
Fast forwards to about 5pm. The assessor was male. The person being assessed (ie examining my respiratory system) was also male (let's call him X... hehe). So I found myself sitting there wearing a tank top (about as much exposed as I ever get) while X checked my fingers, eyes, nose, mouth, tonsils. Then he says, pretending to be the doctor: "Ok, Sida, I'll just get you to take your top off if you don't mind...".
What? This? But I wore an uncomfortable underwire-less bra today so you wouldn't have to do that!
"Er? This? Really?" I said
"Er, well..." Says X, turning to look at the assessor.
"Well, that is usually the way we do it. But only if you're comfortable." Says the assessor, kindly.
No, I am not comfortable with it! It's not that I am a prude, really. I am not comfortable with showing off my mangled old bra. I might be OK if I were wearing a bikini, or a normal bra with a bit more coverage. But right now? Comfortable with it? Of course not!
"Er, no, that's ok." I said. So the tank top is off. I had never felt so embarrassed in my life.
Of course, the rest of the examination was completed, in a typical doctor-patient manner. My friend X carried it off with professionalism, and I was soon able to put my shirt back on. (Actually, earlier that day, he'd said: "Well, we've all seen breasts before anyway." I wonder if he realises that he may be used to seeing breasts, but breasts aren't neccesarily used to seeing him. But either way, let me reiterate that I was not mistreated at all by my mock doctor (haha)... It's all me being the prude that I am. (Yes, I know that I just contradicted myself. It happens.) )
So, dear reader, I'll bet you're just in tears right now. That's right, go ahead and laugh at my misadventures. What does one learn from this experience?
Well, for one thing, buy a bikini before the cardiovascular assessment. Let my story be a warning to all girls out there who are contemplating doing the MBBS course.
Secondly, and (perhaps) more importantly, to remember that we (health professionals) may have seen all parts of the human anatomy a gazillion times (which I, as a radiographer, have), the said human anatomy may not be used to seeing us. What will one day become a routine part of our job, will be an embarrassing and perhaps even distressing experience for our patients. And, never underestimate the amount of humiliation experienced by a 20 year old asian girl, faced with two male colleagues on a mock hospital bed.
I underestimated that last statement. Allow me to explain. We need to learn certain things involving the chest - for example, listening to breath sounds, heart beats, taking ECG's, etc etc. We learn to do these things on our peers, which means one guy from the group takes off his shirt and the rest of us poke and prod and then he has a go on someone else, usually another guy. But, sooner of later, one needs to learn to listen to female chests too, which is why sometimes girls wear a bikini top and the guys practice on us. Well, that is how it is supposed to go in theory. In the end, when we get assessed, we don't know whether our 'patient' is male or female.
I don't actually own a bikini top. In fact, the only time my shoulders ever see the light of day is when I am at home, or when I am wearing my one-piece. I had been meaning to go buy a bikini, but I keep forgetting, and I don't actually know how you would go about buying one anyway. How does the sizing work?
So anyway, this morning, at 6.30am, I woke up and thought: crap, we have respiratory assessment today. I don't have a bikini. I need something without underwire. Rummaging through my drawer (in a rush, as usual), I come up with the only bra I own that doesn't have underwire. It's old, it's got fluff all over it, and looks strangely mangled. Somehow, in the early-morning-fuzzy state that my brain was in, I thought: it will do.
Fast forwards to about 5pm. The assessor was male. The person being assessed (ie examining my respiratory system) was also male (let's call him X... hehe). So I found myself sitting there wearing a tank top (about as much exposed as I ever get) while X checked my fingers, eyes, nose, mouth, tonsils. Then he says, pretending to be the doctor: "Ok, Sida, I'll just get you to take your top off if you don't mind...".
What? This? But I wore an uncomfortable underwire-less bra today so you wouldn't have to do that!
"Er? This? Really?" I said
"Er, well..." Says X, turning to look at the assessor.
"Well, that is usually the way we do it. But only if you're comfortable." Says the assessor, kindly.
No, I am not comfortable with it! It's not that I am a prude, really. I am not comfortable with showing off my mangled old bra. I might be OK if I were wearing a bikini, or a normal bra with a bit more coverage. But right now? Comfortable with it? Of course not!
"Er, no, that's ok." I said. So the tank top is off. I had never felt so embarrassed in my life.
Of course, the rest of the examination was completed, in a typical doctor-patient manner. My friend X carried it off with professionalism, and I was soon able to put my shirt back on. (Actually, earlier that day, he'd said: "Well, we've all seen breasts before anyway." I wonder if he realises that he may be used to seeing breasts, but breasts aren't neccesarily used to seeing him. But either way, let me reiterate that I was not mistreated at all by my mock doctor (haha)... It's all me being the prude that I am. (Yes, I know that I just contradicted myself. It happens.) )
So, dear reader, I'll bet you're just in tears right now. That's right, go ahead and laugh at my misadventures. What does one learn from this experience?
Well, for one thing, buy a bikini before the cardiovascular assessment. Let my story be a warning to all girls out there who are contemplating doing the MBBS course.
Secondly, and (perhaps) more importantly, to remember that we (health professionals) may have seen all parts of the human anatomy a gazillion times (which I, as a radiographer, have), the said human anatomy may not be used to seeing us. What will one day become a routine part of our job, will be an embarrassing and perhaps even distressing experience for our patients. And, never underestimate the amount of humiliation experienced by a 20 year old asian girl, faced with two male colleagues on a mock hospital bed.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
quick post
Just a quick post.
I am aware that right about now, many people across Australia are waiting for their Gamsat results (or maybe they have already received it... I don't know.) Anyway. I wish everyone all the best - unfortunately not everyone gets high results (otherwise the results won't be considered high), but if you didn't, then you will come to realise that the added year you get to work on it is really a blessing cos you can relax for another year. I don't think the GAMSAT is about intelligence, and am always the first to try to convince people that I'm not smart. (They seem easily persuaded to believe that I'm not smart. Is this a good thing?) I think that getting into medicine is more about perseverence. (AKA: too dumb to know when to give in.)
Special best wishes to my friend Teresa, who probably doesn't even know about this blog, to Aung, my anonymous reader, and to the-guy-I-met-at-the-supermarket-checkout-but-forgot-his-name. Hope to see you guys in medicine next year.
On my side of the world, I am doing fine. No, I lie. I have a feeling of impending doom. But I will be okay. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
Finally, I just want to share something I read by Philip Yancey AGES ago but never got around to posting it:
"For some reason, I find it much easier to show grace and acceptance toward immoral unbelievers than toward uptight, judgemental Christians. Which, of course, turns me into a different kind of uptight, judgemental Christian." - Philip Yancey, in his book Reaching for the Invisible God (Zondervan, 2000)
Hehe, I guess I am an uptight judgemental Christian too.
I am aware that right about now, many people across Australia are waiting for their Gamsat results (or maybe they have already received it... I don't know.) Anyway. I wish everyone all the best - unfortunately not everyone gets high results (otherwise the results won't be considered high), but if you didn't, then you will come to realise that the added year you get to work on it is really a blessing cos you can relax for another year. I don't think the GAMSAT is about intelligence, and am always the first to try to convince people that I'm not smart. (They seem easily persuaded to believe that I'm not smart. Is this a good thing?) I think that getting into medicine is more about perseverence. (AKA: too dumb to know when to give in.)
Special best wishes to my friend Teresa, who probably doesn't even know about this blog, to Aung, my anonymous reader, and to the-guy-I-met-at-the-supermarket-checkout-but-forgot-his-name. Hope to see you guys in medicine next year.
On my side of the world, I am doing fine. No, I lie. I have a feeling of impending doom. But I will be okay. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
Finally, I just want to share something I read by Philip Yancey AGES ago but never got around to posting it:
"For some reason, I find it much easier to show grace and acceptance toward immoral unbelievers than toward uptight, judgemental Christians. Which, of course, turns me into a different kind of uptight, judgemental Christian." - Philip Yancey, in his book Reaching for the Invisible God (Zondervan, 2000)
Hehe, I guess I am an uptight judgemental Christian too.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Updates
Realised I hadn't written in this blog for ages. In fact, possibly a record time.
How have I been doing? Good, and bad. Good because despite everything bad I recieve strength from Him (so I must give Him credit, although His strength comes in sporadic amounts and is unpredictable). Bad because of everything else. Where do I begin? I don't think I want to begin. I don't want to be negative. Well, I am negative, but I don't want to spread it. Sida, think of something positive to share with the internet at large.
Hmmmm.
This Sunday, someone said something really strange to me. I must give you the background. The person who said this is probably one of only a handful of non-Chinese speakers in our church. (I can count them on one hand, perhaps even on 3 or 4 fingers). This weekend, he sat next to me, so I proceeded to translate the sermon for him.
After the sermon, he said: "Now don't get embarrassed. But I think that you're a really strong woman, and that you're really in touch with this world but also with God and what He wants." (Incidentally, if you've read my previous entries, this is the same guy that randomly shared Isaiah 18:30 with me during a tough period.)
Now, that's positive. But you have no idea how long I sat there brewing over exactly what that sweeping statement meant. I'm not like that, really, and God knows it. Ever the cynic, I thought :"ha, if only you knew". But it was nice, anyway.
There you go, something positive.
How have I been doing? Good, and bad. Good because despite everything bad I recieve strength from Him (so I must give Him credit, although His strength comes in sporadic amounts and is unpredictable). Bad because of everything else. Where do I begin? I don't think I want to begin. I don't want to be negative. Well, I am negative, but I don't want to spread it. Sida, think of something positive to share with the internet at large.
Hmmmm.
This Sunday, someone said something really strange to me. I must give you the background. The person who said this is probably one of only a handful of non-Chinese speakers in our church. (I can count them on one hand, perhaps even on 3 or 4 fingers). This weekend, he sat next to me, so I proceeded to translate the sermon for him.
After the sermon, he said: "Now don't get embarrassed. But I think that you're a really strong woman, and that you're really in touch with this world but also with God and what He wants." (Incidentally, if you've read my previous entries, this is the same guy that randomly shared Isaiah 18:30 with me during a tough period.)
Now, that's positive. But you have no idea how long I sat there brewing over exactly what that sweeping statement meant. I'm not like that, really, and God knows it. Ever the cynic, I thought :"ha, if only you knew". But it was nice, anyway.
There you go, something positive.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
superbugs - our own nightmare.
Picture the following scene, possibly from a movie, or some TV drama:
"You mean to say, we have created a superbug? It's resistant to everything we've got?" asks the doe-eyed young assistant (or not-so-intelligent colleague, possibly acted by Jessica Alba? She has doey eyes...). Of course, she is stating the obvious that we all have figured out by now, but these films must make its point super-clear, even if it is at the cost of making the "intelligent" female side-kick super stupid, and severely patronising its viewers.
The doctor/professor/researcher has a haunted, melancholy look. "Yes." he says, very simply. The camera zooms in on his brilliant yet troubled face, his haunted eyes... (I'm thinking Eric Bana, but that's only because I like Eric Bana, although I suppose, to be realistic, one must have an actor who is suitably aged. Michael Douglas perhaps fits the bill, is he still acting these days?)
The "superbug" then spreads through the hospital, on to the staff and relatives, and into the community. Amazingly, our heros are not taken ill. The pair work together, in a race against time style of thing. They figure out a solution of some sort, everyone leave the state, perhaps? As they work together, they fall in love (ew, Jessica Alba and Michael Douglas? No way. Who goes well with Eric Bana? I'm a bit behind with Hollywood stars.) However, as they are implementing their solution, one of them reveals that they are also ill with the superbug... In a self-sacrificial manner, this person isolates himself from everyone and dies the painful death. The film is ended - many millions died, but one of our heros survived (which is all that matters in these movies, really), and the bug is contained (this last bit is necessary, otherwise the movie would not be about a superbug but about the apocalypse).
The "superbug" is some sort of science fiction idea, an idea that we can all toy with, an idea that goes well with a comfy seat and popcorn and a night out. But it is actually very real.
Everyone knows antibiotics are wonderful weapon against bacteria. We all know the impact of the discovery of penicillin has had. But few know that bacteria can become 'resistant' to antibiotics. How does this happen? Put simply, in a population of bacteria that can be killed by antibiotics, there may arise some that are resistant to the drug. This resistance can come from gene mutation (which is very rare), or from the bacteria sharing genes with one another (microbiological sex, as my lecturer puts it. He even showed a picture of bacteria-porn.). The susceptible ones are killed off by drug A, but some are left which are resistant to drug A - these ones grow and prosper and make our patient ill. So we use antibiotic B, which, again, kills most, but leaves some resistant ones. We then use drug C, and D, E, F, G... until, hopefully, all has died away. But what if that doesn't happen?
If that doesn't happen, whatever bacteria we are left with, are resistant to drugs A, B, C, D, all the way to G. If we used every single antibiotic we had, and there are still some bacteria left, which continue to populate our patient and make him ill, then we would have our Superbug.
When antibiotics first became available, we didn't appreciate the possibility for resistance to develop. So antibiotics were administered lavishly, indiscrimminately, providing ample opportunity for resistance to develop. And - you guessed it - it developed.
MRSA - Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus is one such bacteria (aka "Golden Staph" - I have heard it being called "multi" resistant too). It is resistant to all penicillins, which makes it a very bad thing to have. We have one antibiotic - Vancomycin - which can kill this bug, but this is not used liberally to avoid resistance. Some strains are already showing resistance to Vancomycin (called VRSA), but this is currently rare. MRSA is not uncommon - even endemic - in some hospitals. What happens if VRSA ever reaches such proportions? The situation would resemble the above scenario somewhat - like a movie, but with uglier characters. This is scary. A fellow medical student said that it gave him night sweats (to which we all chuckled nervously... I think he might have been joking.)
What can we do about it?
Health professionals now avoid multi-resistance using many means. One of them involves killing the bacteria as quickly as possible - not giving it time to develop resistance (think maximal dosage and using 2 different types together). Also, we try to give drugs that are as specific to the bacteria as possible, and to limit the usage of very effective drugs that bacteria easily develop resistance against. As you would have figured out by now, the more liberally and carelessly we administer antibiotics, the more likely resistance is. So one very important way to control resistance is to educate the public about antibiotics. Which, I guess, is what this entry is all about.
The crux of it is, antibiotics are not the "solve it all" solution some people believe them to be - particularly for colds and flus (often of viral origin anway). One fellow student joked that at the pharmacy where she works, they have an ongoing joke - "With this drug, you will recover in 48hours. Without it, it will take 2 days". Many people go to doctors, feeling ill, but not wanting to slow down and rest, and demand antibiotics. Our tutor said that in her practice, they had an education campaigne where brochures were printed to educate their patients about resistance - and antibiotic prescriptions went down by 25%.
What else can you do, apart from not demanding antibiotics? Well, for one, don't take someone else's antibiotics. If you are prescribed with them, take them exactly as recommended - don't stop just because symptons have subsided and certainly don't "save some for later". Aside from that, general good sanitation would be good too.
That is all I have on this subject thus far... I feel better now, even if no one reads my blog and I didn't actually end up "educating" anyone.
"You mean to say, we have created a superbug? It's resistant to everything we've got?" asks the doe-eyed young assistant (or not-so-intelligent colleague, possibly acted by Jessica Alba? She has doey eyes...). Of course, she is stating the obvious that we all have figured out by now, but these films must make its point super-clear, even if it is at the cost of making the "intelligent" female side-kick super stupid, and severely patronising its viewers.
The doctor/professor/researcher has a haunted, melancholy look. "Yes." he says, very simply. The camera zooms in on his brilliant yet troubled face, his haunted eyes... (I'm thinking Eric Bana, but that's only because I like Eric Bana, although I suppose, to be realistic, one must have an actor who is suitably aged. Michael Douglas perhaps fits the bill, is he still acting these days?)
The "superbug" then spreads through the hospital, on to the staff and relatives, and into the community. Amazingly, our heros are not taken ill. The pair work together, in a race against time style of thing. They figure out a solution of some sort, everyone leave the state, perhaps? As they work together, they fall in love (ew, Jessica Alba and Michael Douglas? No way. Who goes well with Eric Bana? I'm a bit behind with Hollywood stars.) However, as they are implementing their solution, one of them reveals that they are also ill with the superbug... In a self-sacrificial manner, this person isolates himself from everyone and dies the painful death. The film is ended - many millions died, but one of our heros survived (which is all that matters in these movies, really), and the bug is contained (this last bit is necessary, otherwise the movie would not be about a superbug but about the apocalypse).
The "superbug" is some sort of science fiction idea, an idea that we can all toy with, an idea that goes well with a comfy seat and popcorn and a night out. But it is actually very real.
Everyone knows antibiotics are wonderful weapon against bacteria. We all know the impact of the discovery of penicillin has had. But few know that bacteria can become 'resistant' to antibiotics. How does this happen? Put simply, in a population of bacteria that can be killed by antibiotics, there may arise some that are resistant to the drug. This resistance can come from gene mutation (which is very rare), or from the bacteria sharing genes with one another (microbiological sex, as my lecturer puts it. He even showed a picture of bacteria-porn.). The susceptible ones are killed off by drug A, but some are left which are resistant to drug A - these ones grow and prosper and make our patient ill. So we use antibiotic B, which, again, kills most, but leaves some resistant ones. We then use drug C, and D, E, F, G... until, hopefully, all has died away. But what if that doesn't happen?
If that doesn't happen, whatever bacteria we are left with, are resistant to drugs A, B, C, D, all the way to G. If we used every single antibiotic we had, and there are still some bacteria left, which continue to populate our patient and make him ill, then we would have our Superbug.
When antibiotics first became available, we didn't appreciate the possibility for resistance to develop. So antibiotics were administered lavishly, indiscrimminately, providing ample opportunity for resistance to develop. And - you guessed it - it developed.
MRSA - Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus is one such bacteria (aka "Golden Staph" - I have heard it being called "multi" resistant too). It is resistant to all penicillins, which makes it a very bad thing to have. We have one antibiotic - Vancomycin - which can kill this bug, but this is not used liberally to avoid resistance. Some strains are already showing resistance to Vancomycin (called VRSA), but this is currently rare. MRSA is not uncommon - even endemic - in some hospitals. What happens if VRSA ever reaches such proportions? The situation would resemble the above scenario somewhat - like a movie, but with uglier characters. This is scary. A fellow medical student said that it gave him night sweats (to which we all chuckled nervously... I think he might have been joking.)
What can we do about it?
Health professionals now avoid multi-resistance using many means. One of them involves killing the bacteria as quickly as possible - not giving it time to develop resistance (think maximal dosage and using 2 different types together). Also, we try to give drugs that are as specific to the bacteria as possible, and to limit the usage of very effective drugs that bacteria easily develop resistance against. As you would have figured out by now, the more liberally and carelessly we administer antibiotics, the more likely resistance is. So one very important way to control resistance is to educate the public about antibiotics. Which, I guess, is what this entry is all about.
The crux of it is, antibiotics are not the "solve it all" solution some people believe them to be - particularly for colds and flus (often of viral origin anway). One fellow student joked that at the pharmacy where she works, they have an ongoing joke - "With this drug, you will recover in 48hours. Without it, it will take 2 days". Many people go to doctors, feeling ill, but not wanting to slow down and rest, and demand antibiotics. Our tutor said that in her practice, they had an education campaigne where brochures were printed to educate their patients about resistance - and antibiotic prescriptions went down by 25%.
What else can you do, apart from not demanding antibiotics? Well, for one, don't take someone else's antibiotics. If you are prescribed with them, take them exactly as recommended - don't stop just because symptons have subsided and certainly don't "save some for later". Aside from that, general good sanitation would be good too.
That is all I have on this subject thus far... I feel better now, even if no one reads my blog and I didn't actually end up "educating" anyone.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The Sequel
This is the sequel to the strange story of how I came in contact with Medicine Royalty. I'm not going to reiterate the story here. If you don't know the story, go to: http://supersida.blogspot.com/2007/03/funny-thing-happened-other-day-youd.html for the prelude.
Following on from last time... I got home today, and I saw the bunch of mail on the dinner table. My mum waited until I'd gone through every single envelope and fallen down on the chair devoid of energy, before she casually mentioned that The Package had arrived and was in my room. OK, I know you're all just twitching with anticipation, so I will skip the bit about how excited I was, the speed at which I ran upstairs, the momentary confusion caused by my not finding it despite instructions from my mum, yelling from down stairs.
The Package held the following: a sheet of commemorative Australia Post stamps signed by both Nobel laureats, a "Les Prix Nobel" by Professor Marshall (signed with "Best Wishes to Sida"), a copy of a cartoon depicting the ingestion, and a note from M.
This week I'm studying Diabetes, and I'm also reading about the psychosocial effects of diabetes and chronic illness in general. (It's more interesting than I thought it would be - I will write about it some other time). So I'm feeling kind of guilty now. What are the psychosocial effects of fame? What are the psychosocial effects of generations of medical students learning about you? Of people writing in their blog that they think you're crazy? I flipped through the "Les Prix Nobel" (I'm yet to find out what that means), and it seems the decision wasn't that crazy after all. I feel really guilty now... One thing we learn - the pen is mighty, the mind may be weak, but a pen in a weak mind is still mighty. (Actually we already know this when we read some of the opinion articles in papers...)
I used to collect stamps, as a pre-teen, so when I looked at the stamps, I thought - wow, this trumps everything I've got. I've got to hand this down to my future generations... I will start my own family heirloom, my own family legend. They'd better appreciate this. I'm going to force the lot of them to study medicine - my sheet of stamps will not pass to a bunch of non-medicine-appreciative people... plus it's the only way I will have a family legend...
Somewhat embarrassingly, there is a rumour going around the 1st years that someone wrote a sycophantic article about Professor Marshall.
Following on from last time... I got home today, and I saw the bunch of mail on the dinner table. My mum waited until I'd gone through every single envelope and fallen down on the chair devoid of energy, before she casually mentioned that The Package had arrived and was in my room. OK, I know you're all just twitching with anticipation, so I will skip the bit about how excited I was, the speed at which I ran upstairs, the momentary confusion caused by my not finding it despite instructions from my mum, yelling from down stairs.
The Package held the following: a sheet of commemorative Australia Post stamps signed by both Nobel laureats, a "Les Prix Nobel" by Professor Marshall (signed with "Best Wishes to Sida"), a copy of a cartoon depicting the ingestion, and a note from M.
This week I'm studying Diabetes, and I'm also reading about the psychosocial effects of diabetes and chronic illness in general. (It's more interesting than I thought it would be - I will write about it some other time). So I'm feeling kind of guilty now. What are the psychosocial effects of fame? What are the psychosocial effects of generations of medical students learning about you? Of people writing in their blog that they think you're crazy? I flipped through the "Les Prix Nobel" (I'm yet to find out what that means), and it seems the decision wasn't that crazy after all. I feel really guilty now... One thing we learn - the pen is mighty, the mind may be weak, but a pen in a weak mind is still mighty. (Actually we already know this when we read some of the opinion articles in papers...)
I used to collect stamps, as a pre-teen, so when I looked at the stamps, I thought - wow, this trumps everything I've got. I've got to hand this down to my future generations... I will start my own family heirloom, my own family legend. They'd better appreciate this. I'm going to force the lot of them to study medicine - my sheet of stamps will not pass to a bunch of non-medicine-appreciative people... plus it's the only way I will have a family legend...
Somewhat embarrassingly, there is a rumour going around the 1st years that someone wrote a sycophantic article about Professor Marshall.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Funny thing happened the other day, you'd never believe it...
I was going to write about this after I finish my John Flynn Rural scholarship application, but I realised that, at the rate I'm going, I may never complete those selection questions. So I'm going to blog now, and do the "more important" things later.
So anyway, I refer to the entry I wrote about 2 weeks ago, on Professor Barry Marshall and peptic ulcer. http://supersida.blogspot.com/2007/03/if-i-ever-meet-dr-barry-marshall.html Basically in this entry I called Professor Marshall, the famous Nobel Prize laureate, insane. I never actually think that anyone ever reads my blog... I see the counter go up but it rises very slowly and I'd always thought that it was due to people coming across it by accident.
So imagine my surprse when I recieved a comment to that blog entry, which arrived to me via email. "Interesting article!" it said, "Please email M at xxx@helicobacter.com for more information."
I broke into a cold sweat on the spot. You can imagine my shock, horror, and fear. This woman obviously knew a lot about this subject. She was probably from information group, or research group, or support group, or something. I'd stirred up a bee's nest... Craaapp, I've put my real name on that thing. Crraapp, it's even got my photo on it. Sida, you stupid stupid girl. But it's ok! I'll just delete the whole blog! They'll never find me!
So anyway, I sent a short, tentative email back: "I can delete, or alter the post if you deem it inappropriate..." I was just short of saying: please don't sue me.
So anyway, M replied with (take a big breath...) "I am Assistant Manager of the Office of the Nobel Laureates – Professor Barry Marshall and Dr Robin Warren. Barry was pleased to read your blog and has asked me to contact you to get a mailing address as he would like me to send you a signed gift from him."
My first reaction was purely relief. I am not going to get sued. My parents can keep the family house. I do not have a black mark against my name. Then... "ARRRGHH! Barry Marshall read my blog! ARRGGHH! ARRGGHH! How embarrassing!!!"
So anyway, that pretty much concludes my tale. As suggested by a friend, I checked out www.helicobacter.com just to make sure the domain name exists, then replied with my address, with quivering fingers. M replied to thank me for supplying my address (thank ME?)... and to hope that I am going well with my studies, and hope that I enjoyed my H. pylori subject. I'd like to reply, but I'm not sure about the etiquette regarding these things. Does she expect a reply? Is it polite to flood the Assistant Manager of a nobel prize laureate with grateful emails? I decided not to. (But, if in case you are reading this, M... It's certainly more interesting than skin, immunology, or anorexia nervosa. I have already ruled out dermatology, immunology, and psychiatry...)
I told my friends, and the general consensus is that this is a great thing. I'm not so sure, though. Do I really want Barry Marshall reading about my strange misadventures? There is a lot of speculation about what the gift might be, too. Some (non-medicine) friend even joked that I should be careful when opening it, as it may contain a culture of bacteria. I jokingly suggested to a friend studying law that she should do the same about Justice Kirby... but she said that it had already been done.
If you're looking for the comment posted by M, you won't find it. At her request, I removed it to hide her email address. But this really did happen! I didn't make it up, nor did I dream it...
Ok, I'm going to get back to my John Flynn application form now. I would like to post an entry about what I think of selection questions posed mainly by large organisations, but since my blog is actually being read, I will simply say that I find them rather tedious. On that note, I am a hardworking, flexible, adaptable, proactive person, who would strive to be a significant contribution to rural communities...
(Sida's note: for the final chapter of this exciting trilogy, click here)
So anyway, I refer to the entry I wrote about 2 weeks ago, on Professor Barry Marshall and peptic ulcer. http://supersida.blogspot.com/2007/03/if-i-ever-meet-dr-barry-marshall.html Basically in this entry I called Professor Marshall, the famous Nobel Prize laureate, insane. I never actually think that anyone ever reads my blog... I see the counter go up but it rises very slowly and I'd always thought that it was due to people coming across it by accident.
So imagine my surprse when I recieved a comment to that blog entry, which arrived to me via email. "Interesting article!" it said, "Please email M at xxx@helicobacter.com for more information."
I broke into a cold sweat on the spot. You can imagine my shock, horror, and fear. This woman obviously knew a lot about this subject. She was probably from information group, or research group, or support group, or something. I'd stirred up a bee's nest... Craaapp, I've put my real name on that thing. Crraapp, it's even got my photo on it. Sida, you stupid stupid girl. But it's ok! I'll just delete the whole blog! They'll never find me!
So anyway, I sent a short, tentative email back: "I can delete, or alter the post if you deem it inappropriate..." I was just short of saying: please don't sue me.
So anyway, M replied with (take a big breath...) "I am Assistant Manager of the Office of the Nobel Laureates – Professor Barry Marshall and Dr Robin Warren. Barry was pleased to read your blog and has asked me to contact you to get a mailing address as he would like me to send you a signed gift from him."
My first reaction was purely relief. I am not going to get sued. My parents can keep the family house. I do not have a black mark against my name. Then... "ARRRGHH! Barry Marshall read my blog! ARRGGHH! ARRGGHH! How embarrassing!!!"
So anyway, that pretty much concludes my tale. As suggested by a friend, I checked out www.helicobacter.com just to make sure the domain name exists, then replied with my address, with quivering fingers. M replied to thank me for supplying my address (thank ME?)... and to hope that I am going well with my studies, and hope that I enjoyed my H. pylori subject. I'd like to reply, but I'm not sure about the etiquette regarding these things. Does she expect a reply? Is it polite to flood the Assistant Manager of a nobel prize laureate with grateful emails? I decided not to. (But, if in case you are reading this, M... It's certainly more interesting than skin, immunology, or anorexia nervosa. I have already ruled out dermatology, immunology, and psychiatry...)
I told my friends, and the general consensus is that this is a great thing. I'm not so sure, though. Do I really want Barry Marshall reading about my strange misadventures? There is a lot of speculation about what the gift might be, too. Some (non-medicine) friend even joked that I should be careful when opening it, as it may contain a culture of bacteria. I jokingly suggested to a friend studying law that she should do the same about Justice Kirby... but she said that it had already been done.
If you're looking for the comment posted by M, you won't find it. At her request, I removed it to hide her email address. But this really did happen! I didn't make it up, nor did I dream it...
Ok, I'm going to get back to my John Flynn application form now. I would like to post an entry about what I think of selection questions posed mainly by large organisations, but since my blog is actually being read, I will simply say that I find them rather tedious. On that note, I am a hardworking, flexible, adaptable, proactive person, who would strive to be a significant contribution to rural communities...
(Sida's note: for the final chapter of this exciting trilogy, click here)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Corrections (and apologies)
In my post about Barry Marshall, I called him DOCTOR Barry Marshall. He's actually PROFESSOR Barry Marshall. Apologies to the Professor... (Actually I have a funny story about that, but I have promised myself to finish my John Flynn scholarship application tonight. Will regale my exciting tale some other time.)
My previous post, written last night, about the assumptions people make about me, was written when I was very tired and when I was in a very bad mood. You can probably tell this, both by the tone of the post as well as the horrendous spelling and grammar, and general poor style. Apologies to everyone who read it.
My previous post, written last night, about the assumptions people make about me, was written when I was very tired and when I was in a very bad mood. You can probably tell this, both by the tone of the post as well as the horrendous spelling and grammar, and general poor style. Apologies to everyone who read it.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Top 5 assumptions not to make about me.
For those people who meet me for the first time... Just because I am an Asian and I am studying medicine, it does not mean:
- That I am smart. Please don't assume I'm smart. And don't tell me I'm so smart because I do medicine. That is a fallacy.
- That I work very hard, and put marks above all else.
- That my parents made me do it, or I'm in it for the money, lifestyle, power, or guys. Or that I am in it because I'm Asian and it's one of those innate Asian things. I consider the sacrifices of doing medicine great that none of the perks forementioned are worth it (even the guys).
- That I know everything.
- That I know why your head/back/shoulders/joints/abdomen are achy these few days. Do not ask me why you're tired, or why you're sleeping more/less than usual. Know your own body, go to a doctor when necessary.
I met some people recently who I'm so sure thought that they knew me after just knowing what I study. It is very annoying, such that these days I only tell ppl that I'm a "student" and only say medicine if asksed.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Mint tea + lemon tea = EEEWWWW
Let me start from the beginning. Today, after church, I was approached by a friend who said that he needed a lift home. Sure, I said, I just need to go buy some tea (vital study-aid). So I run off to Woolworths.
Milk? Where do they keep the milk? Yogurt, I suppose I got to buy the yogurt too... Where on earth is the tea I usually buy? Why are there all these different types? Cookies-and-cream tea? Interesing... Lemon Twist? That sounds good. Oh, there it is, good old Lipton Green tea, packet of 50.
So, being acutely aware that someone is waiting for me, I grab what I see and run back to church to find that this friend's brother can drive him home after all. Ok, that's fine.
Until about 5 minutes ago, when I made some tea to keep myself awake (or to let my mind fool my body). I knew as soon as I opened the packet that it didn't smell right. Crap! It's green MINT tea! I can still remember the last time I had mint tea, it was at bible study and it was so gross the host poured it all out. And I bought 50 bags of it. Acutely aware that this tea cost money, and that money comes from working like a trained monkey every Saturday, I decided to make it anyway. Can't be that bad, right?
So here I am, watching my tea cool, smelling its tooth-paste-like odour. Then I had a flash of what I thought at the time was genius. The mint can be neutralised if I add something to it, right? Something with a stronger flavour. The first thing I saw as I looked around my desk was a packet of jelly beans. Don't be stupid, no one puts jelly beans in their tea. Then I saw the Lemon Twist, which I also bought...
Mint + lemon. How to describe it? In colour and texture, it is like any other tea. The smell is also not unique - it is the smell that wavers around the elderly and very ill patients in hospitals. The taste... sour, like the taste you would get if you ate an under-ripe berry. It resembles neither lemon, nor mint, nor tea, but seems to be an entirely new and newly offensive flavour. There is, inevitably, the after-taste of toothpaste. I had not disguised the toothpaste flavour, just added another dimension to it.
In fascination, ever the scientist, I drank the lot, wondering its effects on my body. Of course, it's just tea, I'm being fanciful, but you'd be too if you could smell and taste the thing.
Usually when I drink tea, my room smells like it, and it usually smells quite good... jasmine, or lemon, or just plain green tea. Today, my room smells like bed-ridden old people.
If there is one thing to be gained, this concoction will certainly wake me up. The question lies... what does one do with the other 49 tea bags?
Milk? Where do they keep the milk? Yogurt, I suppose I got to buy the yogurt too... Where on earth is the tea I usually buy? Why are there all these different types? Cookies-and-cream tea? Interesing... Lemon Twist? That sounds good. Oh, there it is, good old Lipton Green tea, packet of 50.
So, being acutely aware that someone is waiting for me, I grab what I see and run back to church to find that this friend's brother can drive him home after all. Ok, that's fine.
Until about 5 minutes ago, when I made some tea to keep myself awake (or to let my mind fool my body). I knew as soon as I opened the packet that it didn't smell right. Crap! It's green MINT tea! I can still remember the last time I had mint tea, it was at bible study and it was so gross the host poured it all out. And I bought 50 bags of it. Acutely aware that this tea cost money, and that money comes from working like a trained monkey every Saturday, I decided to make it anyway. Can't be that bad, right?
So here I am, watching my tea cool, smelling its tooth-paste-like odour. Then I had a flash of what I thought at the time was genius. The mint can be neutralised if I add something to it, right? Something with a stronger flavour. The first thing I saw as I looked around my desk was a packet of jelly beans. Don't be stupid, no one puts jelly beans in their tea. Then I saw the Lemon Twist, which I also bought...
Mint + lemon. How to describe it? In colour and texture, it is like any other tea. The smell is also not unique - it is the smell that wavers around the elderly and very ill patients in hospitals. The taste... sour, like the taste you would get if you ate an under-ripe berry. It resembles neither lemon, nor mint, nor tea, but seems to be an entirely new and newly offensive flavour. There is, inevitably, the after-taste of toothpaste. I had not disguised the toothpaste flavour, just added another dimension to it.
In fascination, ever the scientist, I drank the lot, wondering its effects on my body. Of course, it's just tea, I'm being fanciful, but you'd be too if you could smell and taste the thing.
Usually when I drink tea, my room smells like it, and it usually smells quite good... jasmine, or lemon, or just plain green tea. Today, my room smells like bed-ridden old people.
If there is one thing to be gained, this concoction will certainly wake me up. The question lies... what does one do with the other 49 tea bags?
Friday, March 16, 2007
"Should I tell them" by Shaun Groves
"Should I Tell Them" by Shaun Groves (from the album Invitation to Eavesdrop) is my current favourite song. I love the lyrics, even though it's not entirely applicable to me. The "What should I say to them? What if I'm failing them?" question is always on my mind when I communicate to others about my faith... and also, what if I'm failing Him? So when I do communicate to others about my faith, I am often, like the singer, just plain afraid. I feel like I am making a big speech, a speech that has a life-and-death effect.
On the other hand, I don't actually think that I am the perfect example of all He can do in a life.
Walking with you is not without hazards
Trippings this traveler's curse
Price paid for falling is more than my stumble
In a world that is watching and waiting for words
But I listened when You said to go
And I set out in spite of my fears
About truth mixed with my imperfection
And the question of what to say when I got here
And now that I'm here
Should I tell them that
You are the one who has made me
And saved me and set up a home there inside
Should I tell them that I am a perfect example
Of all You can do with a life.
What should I say to them? What if I'm failing them?
What should I tell them tonight?
Now don't get me wrong I'm thankful to be here
With this song to sing and a spotlight on me,
But lately I'm wondering if you are mistaken,
If you're seeing all of me there is to see.
Cause on every face I detect
The same questions I've posed to you
Like do you speak through the imperfect
Are we too dirty for your light to get through?
I want your light to get through.
What should I tell them when
They're thirsty Lord
My cup is empty Lord
Come and lead me here in this place
Cuz I'm honest, yeah, but I'm unprepared
And I'm just plain afraid
Lyrics copied and pasted from www.christianlyricsonline.com
On the other hand, I don't actually think that I am the perfect example of all He can do in a life.
Walking with you is not without hazards
Trippings this traveler's curse
Price paid for falling is more than my stumble
In a world that is watching and waiting for words
But I listened when You said to go
And I set out in spite of my fears
About truth mixed with my imperfection
And the question of what to say when I got here
And now that I'm here
Should I tell them that
You are the one who has made me
And saved me and set up a home there inside
Should I tell them that I am a perfect example
Of all You can do with a life.
What should I say to them? What if I'm failing them?
What should I tell them tonight?
Now don't get me wrong I'm thankful to be here
With this song to sing and a spotlight on me,
But lately I'm wondering if you are mistaken,
If you're seeing all of me there is to see.
Cause on every face I detect
The same questions I've posed to you
Like do you speak through the imperfect
Are we too dirty for your light to get through?
I want your light to get through.
What should I tell them when
They're thirsty Lord
My cup is empty Lord
Come and lead me here in this place
Cuz I'm honest, yeah, but I'm unprepared
And I'm just plain afraid
Lyrics copied and pasted from www.christianlyricsonline.com
Saturday, March 10, 2007
If I ever meet Dr Barry Marshall...
Everyone knows what peptic ulcer is, right? (Actually right now I could write a whole essay on peptic ulcer, it being the case for this week). From memory, peptic ulcer had a small mention in the film Intolerable Cruelty. Basically it's an ulcer in the stomach or earlier part of small bowel, similar to the ones we get in our mouthes. As a disease, even the ancient egyptians had it.
In the early 1980's, a pathologist at the Royal Perth Hospital named Robin Warren noticed a bacteria found in the stomach of gastritis sufferers. This idea was considered outlandish, since everyone knows that the strong acid in the stomach means no bug could live there. Warren was soon joined by Marshall, who was looking for a research project. Together, the pair tried to culture (ie grow) the bug, but to no avail, until Easter came around. During the Easter break, there was a staffing shortage, and the culture was left for an unusually long time... and the bacteria grew. (Haha, love the Australian culture where everyone goes away during Easter and even the most important medical research is put aside...)
Once cultured, Marshall's job was to prove that these bacteria caused ulcers, which went against the commonly held notions of the time. In frustration, in 1984, he drank a culture of bacteria himself. Eventually, he became very sick, developing gastritis (which would have turned into ulcer if he left it). He then cured himself with antibiotics.
The road to gaining widespread recognition of the cause of ulcers was still a long one and it was 10 years before it was officially recognised, but his point has been made. And today, 20 years on, we at medical school are taught that H. pylori bacteria causes 70% of gastric ulcer and 90% of duodenal ulcer. Of course, it was a great discovery, as we can now treat ulcers such that there is a very low chance of recurrance. People's lives are improved. The need for surgery is lessened. Chances of complications reduced. Medicine at its best.
But, seriously, what kind of person drinks a culture of bacteria to see if he gets ill? My PBL tutor was working as a physiotherapist at the Royal Perth when this was going on, and she said everyone thought he was nuts. (Which is why he drank the culture, I guess.) Didn't anyone try stop him? ("There's got to be a better way!") And it would certainly have tasted awful.
Barry Marshall sounds quite insane. Which means, of course, if I'd ever met him, I would be too chicken to tell him I think he's insane. I would be reacting along the lines of - "Um, (giggle) um, um...big fan, read all about you. (nervous giggle) Um. Can I have a photo with you? Can I have your autograph? So... uh... uh... what did it taste like?"
Oh, and by the way, if you didn't know, Barry Marshall and Robin Warren won the Nobel Prize for medicine in 2005. According to my microbiology lecturer, Marshall had problems getting his research published because he didn't have ethics approval to test the culture on someone (ie himself).
(Sida's Note: to go to the sequel to this story, click here.)
In the early 1980's, a pathologist at the Royal Perth Hospital named Robin Warren noticed a bacteria found in the stomach of gastritis sufferers. This idea was considered outlandish, since everyone knows that the strong acid in the stomach means no bug could live there. Warren was soon joined by Marshall, who was looking for a research project. Together, the pair tried to culture (ie grow) the bug, but to no avail, until Easter came around. During the Easter break, there was a staffing shortage, and the culture was left for an unusually long time... and the bacteria grew. (Haha, love the Australian culture where everyone goes away during Easter and even the most important medical research is put aside...)
Once cultured, Marshall's job was to prove that these bacteria caused ulcers, which went against the commonly held notions of the time. In frustration, in 1984, he drank a culture of bacteria himself. Eventually, he became very sick, developing gastritis (which would have turned into ulcer if he left it). He then cured himself with antibiotics.
The road to gaining widespread recognition of the cause of ulcers was still a long one and it was 10 years before it was officially recognised, but his point has been made. And today, 20 years on, we at medical school are taught that H. pylori bacteria causes 70% of gastric ulcer and 90% of duodenal ulcer. Of course, it was a great discovery, as we can now treat ulcers such that there is a very low chance of recurrance. People's lives are improved. The need for surgery is lessened. Chances of complications reduced. Medicine at its best.
But, seriously, what kind of person drinks a culture of bacteria to see if he gets ill? My PBL tutor was working as a physiotherapist at the Royal Perth when this was going on, and she said everyone thought he was nuts. (Which is why he drank the culture, I guess.) Didn't anyone try stop him? ("There's got to be a better way!") And it would certainly have tasted awful.
Barry Marshall sounds quite insane. Which means, of course, if I'd ever met him, I would be too chicken to tell him I think he's insane. I would be reacting along the lines of - "Um, (giggle) um, um...big fan, read all about you. (nervous giggle) Um. Can I have a photo with you? Can I have your autograph? So... uh... uh... what did it taste like?"
Oh, and by the way, if you didn't know, Barry Marshall and Robin Warren won the Nobel Prize for medicine in 2005. According to my microbiology lecturer, Marshall had problems getting his research published because he didn't have ethics approval to test the culture on someone (ie himself).
(Sida's Note: to go to the sequel to this story, click here.)
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Updates, I guess
I havn't written here for a while, but there isn't much to update on. Just hanging in here, trying to stay on top of it all, but failing miserably. Was going to write an entry about indigenous health before, but then realised that i really knew too little about the issue, and it's a lot more complex than I had ever imagined.
Agreed to a girl at church to do some 'service' on Sundays, on a whim. I agreed because I do enjoy to serve and because I hate to think that my studies interferre with my service to God. (Even though I know and He knows that it's already happened). It's going to be ok. God will provide.
Considering very very seriously a placement at the end of the year in a rural hospital. Don't have enough money to go overseas. Those two-doctor hospitals sound pretty cool, do lotsa cool things like suture and cannulate and intubate and deliver babies and get abused by drunken people who fall over and hit their heads.
Gave a friend some tips about the Gamsat today. She thanked me perfusely, and said she will try her best to follow my advice. crap. Obviously I hadn't put enough disclaimers in. Now I just hope she does well.
That's all for now. Helicobacter Pylori awaits me.
Agreed to a girl at church to do some 'service' on Sundays, on a whim. I agreed because I do enjoy to serve and because I hate to think that my studies interferre with my service to God. (Even though I know and He knows that it's already happened). It's going to be ok. God will provide.
Considering very very seriously a placement at the end of the year in a rural hospital. Don't have enough money to go overseas. Those two-doctor hospitals sound pretty cool, do lotsa cool things like suture and cannulate and intubate and deliver babies and get abused by drunken people who fall over and hit their heads.
Gave a friend some tips about the Gamsat today. She thanked me perfusely, and said she will try her best to follow my advice. crap. Obviously I hadn't put enough disclaimers in. Now I just hope she does well.
That's all for now. Helicobacter Pylori awaits me.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Success without compromise
This sunday I was listening to a Christian radio station while driving to church, and I heard a guy praying for the audience. It was a very nice prayer, asking God to bless the listeners and guide them and let them be a light for the people around them (ie non-christians).
Towards the end, he prayed that the listeners may have "success without compromise".
This stuck in my mind and I have to admit when I first heard it I was a little taken aback. Of course what exactly he meant by "success without compromise" I'm unsure of. But when I first heard it I thought it meant that we may have success (in the normal sense of the word, meaning worldly success) without compromising our Christian values. I guess it could also mean the other way around: that we be successful in a spiritual sense (pleasing God and being a light to others) without compromising our worldly needs.
Why did this statement offend me slightly? It's what we all would love to have, right? The best of both worlds - to be successful in life without compromising our conscience. I admit that I would love to have this 'success without compromise'. Currently, I spend a lot of time studying and the amount of time I spend serving others, or even just participating with others in religion, is compromised. That offends my conscience. I try to maintain my bible reading and prayers everyday but sometimes I am just so tired I only read a few lines of the bible before I know I will need to shut it or I will sleep with my head on top of it (and ruin my lovely expensive leather-bound silver-trimmed blue-ribboned bible). Success without compromise, yes, that would be nice. (I am being honest here...)
But to pray for it? I feel it is almost like saying to God: "Yes, I love you, but I also love the world, so please don't make me compromise my success in the world."... or "The worldly things are so important to me I don't want have to compromise them". Of course, I am not saying that following God necessarily means that we have to be poor, in fact, there is a school of thought that God intends for us to enjoy the fruits of His creation. But to pray to God that we don't have to compromise?
As I said before, I am currently in a state of 'compromise'. If I go to all the extra youth group activities, I don't study, and I fall behind, or at least feel like I am falling behind. If I don't, I feel guilty. I have never prayed for Him to take that guilt away, I just rely on his mercy and understanding. I also try to make my learning experience an act of worship, reminding myself of the ingenuity of His creation when I study. I try to remind myself to do mini-prayers throughout the day (something I read from a Philip Yancey book). I pray for Him to forgive me, to open my mind to his creation, and to allow me to be a good doctor one day. But never 'success without compromise'. The idea of it itself is strange.
I am in the process of finding in the bible all the bits that indicate our relation to the worldly, and how we are to enjoy this 'success'. This is an interesting topic, so I will probably consult my bible study leaders and the bible itself, and post here with the results. This is an appeal to whoever is reading this: what do you think of this "Success without compromise"? Perhaps I misunderstood the guy. All comments welcome. Even if you know me personally. Really.
Towards the end, he prayed that the listeners may have "success without compromise".
This stuck in my mind and I have to admit when I first heard it I was a little taken aback. Of course what exactly he meant by "success without compromise" I'm unsure of. But when I first heard it I thought it meant that we may have success (in the normal sense of the word, meaning worldly success) without compromising our Christian values. I guess it could also mean the other way around: that we be successful in a spiritual sense (pleasing God and being a light to others) without compromising our worldly needs.
Why did this statement offend me slightly? It's what we all would love to have, right? The best of both worlds - to be successful in life without compromising our conscience. I admit that I would love to have this 'success without compromise'. Currently, I spend a lot of time studying and the amount of time I spend serving others, or even just participating with others in religion, is compromised. That offends my conscience. I try to maintain my bible reading and prayers everyday but sometimes I am just so tired I only read a few lines of the bible before I know I will need to shut it or I will sleep with my head on top of it (and ruin my lovely expensive leather-bound silver-trimmed blue-ribboned bible). Success without compromise, yes, that would be nice. (I am being honest here...)
But to pray for it? I feel it is almost like saying to God: "Yes, I love you, but I also love the world, so please don't make me compromise my success in the world."... or "The worldly things are so important to me I don't want have to compromise them". Of course, I am not saying that following God necessarily means that we have to be poor, in fact, there is a school of thought that God intends for us to enjoy the fruits of His creation. But to pray to God that we don't have to compromise?
As I said before, I am currently in a state of 'compromise'. If I go to all the extra youth group activities, I don't study, and I fall behind, or at least feel like I am falling behind. If I don't, I feel guilty. I have never prayed for Him to take that guilt away, I just rely on his mercy and understanding. I also try to make my learning experience an act of worship, reminding myself of the ingenuity of His creation when I study. I try to remind myself to do mini-prayers throughout the day (something I read from a Philip Yancey book). I pray for Him to forgive me, to open my mind to his creation, and to allow me to be a good doctor one day. But never 'success without compromise'. The idea of it itself is strange.
I am in the process of finding in the bible all the bits that indicate our relation to the worldly, and how we are to enjoy this 'success'. This is an interesting topic, so I will probably consult my bible study leaders and the bible itself, and post here with the results. This is an appeal to whoever is reading this: what do you think of this "Success without compromise"? Perhaps I misunderstood the guy. All comments welcome. Even if you know me personally. Really.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Miserere Mei, Deus
I changed the "Sing for the moment" to "Miserere Mei, Deus", the great chant by Gregorio Allegri. Laudate Dominum by Mozart is beautiful, but the sound was of a poor quality and besides it's time for a change.
I don't usually make a blog entry about changes in music and in 'verse of the week', but I feel I must explain myself, seeing as I think that Gregorian chants written in the 16th century is probably not everyone's cup of tea. But be open minded, listen to it, with the volume nice and low. It's a beautiful piece. (Keep listening to it, there is a wonderful soprano bit in the middle.) I don't usually like chants myself but I make an exception for "Miserere Mei, Deus". (When the going gets tough, there are two circumstances in which I can have a good cry, one is listening to this chant, the other is sitting infront of the piano (which I play badly) when no one else is home).
Miserere Mei, Deus means "have mercy on me, O God", the first verse of the Psalm 51 (which is also a beautiful piece). Allegri wrote it for some part of the long complex Catholic mass, and some pope along the line liked it so much he declared it must not be played anywhere outside of the Sistine Chapel at the appointed time. Transcription and copying of the work was forbidden.
The story follows that Mozart, at age 12, in 1770 (a few hundred years down the track), visited the Sistine Chapel with his father Leopald during Easter, and heard the Miserere. That night, on returning to his lodgings, he wrote the entire piece down from memory, returning later with it hidden in his hat to make minor corrections.
Ok, well, I just felt like sharing that with you. Next time I will put something contemporary on, really.
I don't usually make a blog entry about changes in music and in 'verse of the week', but I feel I must explain myself, seeing as I think that Gregorian chants written in the 16th century is probably not everyone's cup of tea. But be open minded, listen to it, with the volume nice and low. It's a beautiful piece. (Keep listening to it, there is a wonderful soprano bit in the middle.) I don't usually like chants myself but I make an exception for "Miserere Mei, Deus". (When the going gets tough, there are two circumstances in which I can have a good cry, one is listening to this chant, the other is sitting infront of the piano (which I play badly) when no one else is home).
Miserere Mei, Deus means "have mercy on me, O God", the first verse of the Psalm 51 (which is also a beautiful piece). Allegri wrote it for some part of the long complex Catholic mass, and some pope along the line liked it so much he declared it must not be played anywhere outside of the Sistine Chapel at the appointed time. Transcription and copying of the work was forbidden.
The story follows that Mozart, at age 12, in 1770 (a few hundred years down the track), visited the Sistine Chapel with his father Leopald during Easter, and heard the Miserere. That night, on returning to his lodgings, he wrote the entire piece down from memory, returning later with it hidden in his hat to make minor corrections.
Ok, well, I just felt like sharing that with you. Next time I will put something contemporary on, really.
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