I can never remember what I wanted to put in here at 2 a.m.

Humping the bed just isn't the same thing.

HOME COMING

I haven’t seen Amy or the kids in almost two weeks. That’s a long time being away from the joy and the warmth in your life.

ME (in Ann Arbor): “Hey babe, how’s the packing going?”

AMY (at our house in Troy): “It’s okay. I got some help.”

ME: “I’m almost done with work here. I was thinking that maybe I could drive back home and help pack and then drive back tonight.”

AMY: “There wouldn’t be anything for you to do. The only stuff left is saved for the last day.”

ME: “Maybe we could see a movie or something then?”

AMY: “Your mom’s helping your brother get his stuff out of our house. No one to watch the kids.”

ME: “Hmm.”

AMY: “Here, talk to Sun Su.”

ME: “But I’m at –“ (work.)

ME: “Hi Sun Su?”

SUN SU: “Ah-PAH!”

Sun Su says hi and we exchange one-sided conversations. He tells me something in a very authoritative and instructional tone like he’s explaining the day’s activities and laying the groundwork for tomorrow’s glorious plans as well. It’s very funny to see him talk this way in person; he uses his arms and has this semi-serious self-assured expression on his face. And it’s all in baby-talk.

AMY: “Ask him how old he is, appah.”

ME: “How old are you Sun Su?”

SUN SU: “Twooooo….”

I can practically see him smiling on the other end of the phone.

ME: “So should I drive up?”

AMY: “I think it would just make you too tired driving back and forth tonight. I’ll just see you in three days when we move up there.”

ME: “Yeah, I guess.”

AMY: “Hey, Vanity Fair is out! We can see that when I come up.”

ME: “Uh… okay… We’ll see that this weekend then.”

AMY: “Thanks for offering to help babe. We’ll see you soon.”

Two weeks ago I told Amy she would have to see that movie with a girlfriend or as a rental. Just leave me out. Now I was looking forward to just sitting with the woman who’s heart would beat with mine until mine no longer does. Even if it meant sitting through the ultimate chick flick. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes and try to relive the bathroom fight between California’s governator and Kristanna Loken in Terminator 3.

Still, I was disappointed that she didn’t seem to miss me as much as I missed her. But she’s more stressed than I’ve been; Amy’s been busy–with the kids, the packing, the address changing, et cetera. Plus, Amy’s feelings are usually buried a bit deeper than mine. I’ve just been up here in another city making our money. And going a little crazy with the boredom of this prison of freedom.

Two weeks away from Amy and Sun Su and Ooseung means no hugs. No molding of soft flesh with Amy. No ground rolling with Sun Su laughing in my arms in mock jiu-jitsu combat. No holding Ooseung’s tiny body perfectly over my heart as her big eyes smile at me like she never knew I was gone. Or rather, knew I was never gone.

I'll take more pictures soon and show you exactly what I mean.

_______________________________

Driving home.

WORK CRAP

After our phone conversation, I go to check up on my last patient again. An FFW, or Formerly Fat Woman, who got bariatric surgery a year ago and is now FOS (Full Of Shit).

People say the best way to a man’s heart is through the stomach. Gastroenterologists like to say the human soul resides in the gut. As simply mechanical and earthy as the gastrointestinal tract can be in our high tech age, sometimes the gut can still be a medusa’s slithering mane of mystery.

Her abdominal X-rays show little lakes or half-moons of fluid sitting in the coils of her bowels due to their sleepy inactivity. Her colon is either half full or half empty depending on your point of view. Either way, it’s wrong. The bowel doesn’t like to do things half-assed, as the explosiveness of its movements can sometimes speak for.

I read in the chart how Sir Jury (surgery) already signed off the case. The patient farted so that was their cue to leave: “Positive flatus. Clinically improving ileus. Will sign off.” I call them back because she is still unable to eat and having pain. And four liters of the world’s most colonically stimulating drano just gave her gas.

I still remember her anal-retentive primary doctor, Dr. Furious, telling me over the phone when I called him, “I told her not to get that surgery. Sure, she was happier, and her diabetes is gone and she’s lost over a hundred pounds, but now look at her. This is what she gets for not listening to me. I’m glad!”

He’s right and he’s wrong. She would have been here anyways sooner or later with some other complication related to her previous obesity and diabetes and she knew it.

I’ve used up all the tricks that Medea Sin (medicine) has up her sleeve, so now I have to drag Sir Jury back. I page the attending and then the resident, and sit by the phone again, stuck between a rock hard stool and a hard case.

_________________________________

HIATUS HERNIA

So we move into our new house tomorrow.

It's kind of strange. I didn't realize two weeks ago that it was the last time I'd see our first house. Or the city I grew up in, in fact. A city called Troy, "the city of tomorrow." Yeah, like the movie or The Iliad. The city my father chose for us because he heard a tip that it was really growing, and it has. From a backwoods wood land to a rich city of spoiled privileged children and adults, with a few subdivisions saved for the poor people, like my mom.

There are two high schools in Troy. Troy and Athens. Troy High was where the uber rich and dirt poor went to school (we were in the dirt half), filled with young Helens, Paris' and Achilles', and lots of unworthy peasants for them to astound with their eliteness. Athens was more rich folk, but not quite as rich, people would say.

They were going to build a third school and name it Sparta, after the city of dedicated warriors or spartans. People voted the idea down. I always liked the idea. Especially since every day in high school was tooth-and-nail gladitorial combat to me - only, my colisseum was the test paper and my sword was a No.2 pencil. My mom didn't want us to grow up poor so she invested every ounce of her unyielding will into making us study. I suppose it worked more on me than my brother. I became the favored avenger of our lonely struggling family somehow.

It worked. I even finished college a year early with summer classes just to keep up with my fellow competitors from high school who got into the accelerated-but-now-defunct medical program then (Inteflex). I have to assume they got in because they were smarter, which broke my heart and made me angrier and blackened my heart, which made me work harder to "catch up."

But in some ways, my mom's plan backfired. I became a vengeful bloodthirsty fighter in spirit. But at some point, I completely lost any ability to express any affection toward my mom. Maybe she pushed too hard. Maybe I was simply born cold-hearted in that way. Maybe somewhere along the way, I chose this coldness.

Anyways, we made it. We'll take care of my mom as the eldest Corean son is supposed to. Maybe I'll remember to be nicer to her, like I am to everyone else's mother.

I forgot to say bye to our cat. ...The LIGER! will have a new owner. Not by my choice. Amy's parents hate cats, her brother is "allergic", and Amy has spurned him since Sun Su was born. ... The LIGER! will be better off with a more attentive owner, but I will miss him.

It may take a week or so to get an internet connection in our new house so until then.

By the way, Corean School classes (www.koreanschoolaa.org) start in about a week in Ann Arbor. I'm going. Can't decide if I will try the Corean music or dance classes yet though.

One of the coolest things about a university city like Ann Arbor is the fact that I actually have a choice like that in the first place.

Ann Arbor is funny like this.