Wednesday,
December 25, 2002.
Say hello to "Miss
Mouthy Bitch USA":
If by "mouthy"
you mean "full-lipped,"
and by "bitch" you mean "foine-azz chica."
And her "Year
In Review" is too funny. ("Bitch, please.")
Steve is The Grandmaster of Flowers (17th level monk).
BIRTHDAY WISHSASSY GIRL : "Do you know why the sky is blue?"
BOY : "It's because of the refraction of the light on -"
SASSY GIRL : "No. It's because I want it that way. It's all for me…. Do you know why Corea has four seasons?"
BOY : "… For you?"
SASSY GIRL : "That's right."(From the Corean movie, "My Sassy Girl.")
What I did on my birthday last week:
The drive to work was your classic Michigan post-rain drear. Just the way I like it. I love the smell of the fresh fallen rain. The crisp sound of tires slicing through the puddles. Lights reflecting in wet black streets like abstract urban neon art.
If only I could make it rain all the time, I would scheme in my dark adolescent heart back in high school. That way everyone would have to stay in their houses like my antisocial self did. Without all their cliques and parties and beach trips and whatever it was Everyone-Who's-Anyone would talk about in school the following Monday. Then everyone would know what it felt like to be alone.
For the most part, I overcame most of that juvenile angst. It's a very good thing I didn't have an online journal in high school.
As I was driving, I amused myself with the thought that it rained just for me today. Nature's sympathy tears.
Lee Jung Hyun was singing to me as well from her latest K-pop CD. I understood a few of the words like -
"Happiness,"
"I love you,"
"Forever,"
and "I want to go back again."
Where were you when I was in high school, Jung Hyun?
Oh yeah, she was in Corea. She was five then.
Work is different this month. This is the one month a year or so where I am in the clinic as opposed to being on the hospital floors all day.You learn a lot about people's secrets in the clinic. Whether they know you know or not.
We had a married man come in with gonococcal pharyngitis. Meaning either his wife hasn't been monogamous for the past year, or the husband's been putting infected dick in his mouth.
No wonder infectious disease doctors are always so cynical about the human condition. Gastrointestinal docs are cynical as well but they just think everyone is an alcoholic.
That will be an interesting doctor-patient discussion.
After clinic, I went back into the hospital to visit a patient (with lupus nephritis) that was no longer mine. She was thirty-four.The week prior I was asking her about swelling and diarrhea when she broke down in front of me. I saw it coming a minute before the tears actually fell (not from anything I said I swear). Then perfectly round glassbeads started dropping from her eyes. I'd never seen tears quite like that.
"I am tired of being sick all the time. I do not want to lead a short life," were her exact words. I remember them because I've heard many patients say the first sentence, but I've never heard anyone say the second one before.
"Some people can live completely normal lives with lupus. You could live to be ninety. That's probably older than I'll ever get," I told her.
My words cheered her up immensely, then she laughed,
"But I want to live to one-hundred and ten. You make me so happy. You must live long too."
I wish.
I chalked her crying up to the fact that she was on intravenous steroids at the time. Emotional lability is a side effect.
I saw her for the last time last Thursday (the day all the events in this entry took place). She was doing well, and would be going home the next morning.
She was ecstatic to see me as usual. Which is why I kept coming back after clinic to say hello and answer any questions she had, since I was no longer her hospital doctor. Well, that and because she seemed really lonely and almost cried again when I said I was being moved to the clinic for a few weeks.
"But I'll still stop by," I rushed to say before the rain came again.
I asked about her visitors. Her husband would visit but between his long work hours and taking care of their three-year old daughter, she was alone most of the time. I asked to see pictures.
"I don't have pictures of my daughter here. My husband thinks it will make me miss her too much," she answered.
"Does she visit you in the hospital then?"
"No. I don't want my husband to bring my daughter here because it will make her miss me too much."
Then she pulled out a folded piece of paper,
"I made this for you, Dr. Scott."
(Interestingly, it was dated two days before she gave it to me.)She handed me a hand-drawn thank you card. She drew me with angel's wings. And showed me holding my coat closed because the middle buttons are missing. She drew herself in the corner.
"You drew this? This is great. It's perfect," my eyes said slightly moist from smiling so hard, "You know, this is a perfect birthday present. It's my birthday today."
She was the only person I told that day. She had no idea, it was just funny coincidence.
[ I had gotten a Christmas card like this before when I was a resident. Silvia, my terminal girl, had said she considered me a friend. The funny thing is that I probably knew her better than my friends. The cynical infectious disease docs and gastrointestinal docs were right about her though. She died almost four years ago to this week. ]
"You've been so good to me. Everyone's been nice, but you're a really good doctor. So nice." She says this not because I am smarter than anyone else. And I'm not particularly charming either. But because I talk to her, I guess. Either that or she has a crush on me.
"Can I call you? Just to talk?" she asked.
"Huh? Um, sure, just have me paged through the hospital operator. Anytime," I treaded carefully.
"I don't want to be a bother. But maybe I call you on Christmas to wish your family happy holidays," she half-smiled, as something dawned on her,
"I'm going home tomorrow morning. I won't see you ever again, will I?" she said, walking me to the door. Then suddenly, she hugged me. It was so quick, I was afraid she might cut her forehead on my I.D. badge clip.
"Thank you so much. You must go home to your family. They miss you," she said retreating to her room as more of those glass beads dropped down her cheeks.
Must be the intravenous steroids again, I thought ... until I remembered her nephrologist stopped them days ago.
I used to wish it would rain all the time. That the world would feel the loneliness I felt way back then. But now I'm surrounded by people crying, tears raining down faces, around every other corner, in every other room, in the present and in the past. I wish I could take that one back. I just wish it would stop.
I spent the rest of my birthday at home. Amy's brother and her cousin, Kevin, came over to help put together some new furniture we ordered, because they're family and they're friends. It was a fun birthday. Kevin even wore one of my T-shirts to surprise me. But I knew he ordered it weeks ago. Amy and I talked in bed before falling asleep. She's getting me a karaoke machine to sing my k-pop songs to, but it's going to be a few weeks late.
On Christmas Day, I kept my beeper nearby. The girl with the glass-beaded teardrops never paged me.I guess my birthday wish came true. It stopped raining.
___________________________________________
MEDEA SIN HOT MODEL
This entry's spot goes to my cousin (in-law), Kevin.
Always funny, sometimes goofy,
weekday teacher, weekend paint-gunner,
full-time Corean superhero,
a good friend and great person,
always appreciated,
and usually single (hahahhaha!).
Thanks for the encouragement and laughs, Kevin.
(He really is single if anyone's interested. He's cheaper than those shirts.)
