The Daily Antics of a Hopeless Meanderer: 01/01/2006

Monday, January 30, 2006

Fortunate misgivings

The last 98 hours have essentially been a blur of flights, business suits, and research conferences, all blended into a mosaic montage, a precursor to what will be my career here at the Academy. With two more trips back to D.C. in the next three weeks, I can hardly be remiss that I only made it out into the open air of the state twice, once for a business dinner.

The second was, for lack of a better word, unanticipated. But maybe more descriptive words would be a mingling of the words captivating, traumatic, enlightening, and maybe even life-altering.

The entire impetus of the conference was to bridge the gaps in the triad of military, civilian orthopaedic surgeons, and government legislation, within the expansive realm of extremity war injuries. And while as normal for any other research symposium I’ve attended, it would have been standard to sit through 8 hours of presentations a day. However, it was important and moreover monumental that we see firsthand what war-induced injuries actually entailed, and the real flesh and blood people who were the subject of study. And so, with a corral of a combined 100 surgeons and academy staff, we were transported to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center for a private tour of their amputee wing of the hospital.

What I saw there has, and will, profoundly change my life.

There were both men and women there who had lost one, two, three, or all of their limbs, in addition to sustaining numerous psychological as well as physical injury during their time abroad. They were all in numerous stages of recovery and being fit for prostheses. But, what struck me the most was not the caliber of wounds, but the undeniable and unquenchable attitude of defiance and determination to not only recuperate to a functional state, but to full health and ability.

We spoke to one patient in particular in the rehabilitation center who had had his leg amputated one year prior to that day. He very stubbornly stated with no trace of hesitation that if given the choice between a million dollars and the re-use of his lost limb, he would certainly choose the leg. However, given the lack of that option, he was determined to perform all the activities he once had. He avowed very simply, “there are no limitations, only those that I set for myself”.

When the tears welled up in my eyes, I felt ashamed for feeling a sense of sympathy that he himself did not. But looking around the room, I saw that there were many somber, wet eyes, many belonging to grown men of whom see both injury and tragedy on a daily basis.

To say the very least the experience was sobering, inducing such a sense of humility that I can’t attempt to describe. I’ve thought I have felt physical pain before, and even possessing strength and capability, but all this pales in comparison to the circumstance and bravery of these men and women, these true heroes.

Friday, January 27, 2006

Red-faced

I've been in Washington D.C. for an Academy symposium for four days now, edging on what seems like eternity, and am actually surprised to be looking forward to the normal hubub that is a regular Monday morning back in the office. More on this later...

Funny thing happened today though; I actually had the chance to sneak in a quick workout in the hotel's gorgeous yet high-tech fitness center. This was taken in lieu of an extra hour of sleep, after a late night meeting that lasted until 1AM. I was alone in my morning endeavor for about an hour, until one of our conference attendees also joined me, a Swedish, mid 70's orthopaedic surgeon with an uncanny, best described as goofy expression. We both got onto the treadmill at the exact same time; my intent was to walk for a few minutes to wind down from a strenuous workout. But as he started his treadmill, he started to run at a surprisingly spry speed for someone considered a senior citizen. Some strange motivator inside me drove me to crank up my speed as well, until we were both running at almost my top speed, approximately 8 miles an hour.

About 5 minutes in I was beginning to feel the deleterious effects of lactic acid and burn out in my legs, very quickly creeping up my entire body. Sweating profusely and starting to breathe heavily, I was still determined to not let a seventy-something, grey-haired man outrun me. So I kept chugging along, propelled much more out of psychological rather than physiological propensity. One mile later we were still at it, then two, then three, then four, then five. By the sixth mile (his 6th, my 12th), I finally called it quits for the sake of preserving limb function and scurried out of there,shame-faced, while he kept running on, oblivious.

In retrospect, I'm still not sure what was ultimately more important, upholding humility or normal muscle movement. But, as I'm at a conference with 151 orthopaedic doctors milling about, at least one of these two could have been salvaged.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

A "ha ha" but not "ho ho" story

Something rather out of the ordinary happened on my way to the Japanese supermarket this evening. I had just gotten out of my car, excited to soon be partaking in the green tea mochi ice cream that I had come specifically for, when two small Asian men shouted at me and started running my direction from clear across the parking lot. I stopped, admiring this spectacle, as they were both carrying what looked like camera equipment that weighed more than both of them and which appeared to be very cumbersome. When they finally approached me, I was not entirely prepared for the barrage of questions to come: “Are you Japanese?” “No”, I replied, as they inquired further: “Korean?” “Chinese?” After they had seemingly exhausted their Asian ethnicity options, I finally offered up that I was Vietnamese. “Oh”, they replied in unison, looking genuinely disappointed, which consequently deflated my own ego a bit. They started to walk away, until the one on the right (as I’ll call him since they were almost indistinguishable to me) showed a slight glimmer of hope in asking, “do you perhaps watch Korean programming?”

Now a normal, sane person might give a more negative answer, but it being said, and it also being me, answered, “Why yes!”, as I actually have in the past. If I’m by chance at my parents’ on a Saturday night, there’s a Korean subtitled mini-drama soap opera that my mother is hopelessly addicted to and will go to great lengths to not miss. And so being the dutiful daughter as well as the ever-so curious cat, I have sat through a couple of episodes. I found them appealing enough to watch intently for an entire hour, a couple weeks sporadically.

It turns out that these two brothers, as I was told, were from the Korean station that broadcasts this show, and they were interviewing people in response to the recent Chicago Tribune article reporting that many more Chicoland viewers were tuning into Korean soap operas. They asked me to do a short interview with them, in which I happily complied, even though I sincerely hoped that my stomach grumbles would not be noticeably audible. The entire interview probably lasted 5 minutes, and then we three proceeded along our merry ways.

It was only afterwards the self-critic made her appearance, recalling that I had just left the gym and thus had been in sweaty work out clothes, my hair terribly askew, and when asked to look at the non-speaking camera person, I found myself irresistibly drawn to speak to person directing his questions at me; (aka the one on the right).

Alas, I probably have little to worry about, as even with the Tribune stating increased viewership, there will probably be at most 6 people who will ever see this interview. I’m sure it’ll be nothing to lose sleep over. The most that will happen is what has happened during past interviews; copies of the paper or tape will distributed to close friends and family members and gratuitously laughed over during every single function and get-together to come. Indeed, nothing to worry about.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Are there ever just days when one particular song resonates a bit louder, reverberates in clearer tones? Today, it's Cannonball for me. It reminds me that I need to find more cheery music.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Of friend and folly

I think it’s probably a very rare occurrence to run into someone who will actually admit to being a bad judge of character. While I won’t necessarily admit to it, I can recall isolated incidents in which the thought came into undeniable question.

My very first best friend in elementary school dumped me one day for higher ground. Quite literally. One day she decided the cool thing to do was walk around the outer wood-ledged perimeter of the playground with her new and not me, “bestest” friend (she didn’t have a substantial grasp of grammar in fourth grade). It happened again, but in slightly more mature terms in high school, subsequently in college, and several times after that. But it was never as one-sided as that initial, ego-collapsing first time. Perhaps out of precedence comes vigor.

Some of these incidents involved falling outs, but many of them were just due simply to time constraints and distance. But the ones that cause the most impact are those in which I thought something different of the person’s character than actually true. Neither harm nor fault I suppose, just a friend lost.

Thoughts and indecisions

The results of my career placement exam that I took in high school were definitive and unwavering; the higher powers that be who formulated the very technologically advanced, statistical test (note the resounding sarcasm) were over 98% sure that I should become either a forensic expert or crime-solving agent. Obviously somewhere down the line, the fledgling 2% won out, and here I am 7 years later nowhere near wailing sirens, sophisticated spy equipment, or anything CSI-esque for that matter. I have to say, I don’t wake up every morning to the self-indignant voice of doubt. For the most part, I’m happy with where my choices thus far have taken me.

However, the fashion in which I spend the latter half of my weekends does cast a somewhat grey cloud of doubt, but normally almost too miniscule to notice. Sundays are now spent at my parents’ house, accompanying my mom on grocery and other errand-related outings, which takes up the majority of the morning. In the afternoon, we tackle the large task of preparing a normally pretty elaborate Sunday evening family dinner, perhaps in an effort to repent for the thrown together meals of the weeknights prior. The constancy and routine are warmly comforting, like fleecy slippers right out of the drier.

All those little tasks that keep a household up and running fluidly have always been on my list of small joys, and the idea of doing them for loved ones only makes them that much more prominent. Maybe being a housewife forever doesn’t sound as appealing as having the opportunity to love and serve my family in a committed way in the short-term, but it’s just a thought, after all…

Monday, January 02, 2006

New Year's Resolution 2006

I have in the past, been notoriously aloof to the very idea of a New Year's resolution, as any preliminary psychology book will detail a Stages of Change module that indicates a self-induced motivator as the first step to altering some facet of lifestyle. Moreover, this want and need for modification must come from something more deep seated than a flip of the calendar. Guilt, peer pressure, or "doing it because it's expected", in most circumstances, simply doesn't cut it. People are apt to give up their resounding, indigant, steadfast resolutions before the the frost dissipates to welcome youthful tulips of spring.

But even in utmost advocation of precedence within the language of statistics, it's difficult to overlook the optimism and the shimmer of hope in lieu of very discouraging ratios. And thus I do take much comfort when I see that the gym is overrun by sweaty, huffy people who haven't seen a treadmill since last January, and I am genuinely brightened to hear that a friend is trying to give up his/her own personal vice. For what is life without the promise of improvement and progress, either to oneself or to the larger majority? And isn't it ultimately paramount to try and subsequently fail, than to have never attempted at all?

And so the last bell has rung, indicating that the extended brawl and copious verbal sparring by the cynic and the optimist has concluded, and the quick witted, ever so clever optimist is the undisputed champion. Perhaps even one person's steady resolve will impact us all profoundly, even if not all are successful.

Following this rather winding train of thought, I of course have my own resolution(s). First and foremost, I sincerely pledge to myself that in this year as well as the successive years to come, I will appreciate all the fortunate circumstances that have brought me to this point in my life thus far, for which I am certainly undeserving. In so many moments I have found myself ungrateful for the many blessings I've been bestowed, and thus I hope to accomplish this goal resolutely, if not just for the sake of others, but for the betterment of myself.

The Daily Antics of a Hopeless Meanderer