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Wednesday, 21 October 2009

A Dose of Daily Bread

When he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him. —John 10:4

Our unknown future is secure in the hands of our all-knowing God. - http://www.rbc.org/odb/odb.shtml (The Daily Bread)

Saturday, 17 October 2009

California Winter = Philly Autumn

The day begins with a cloudy and cold sky. I open my window ajar and test the coldness with my right hand. Indeed, the wind is chilly enough to freeze the top-most layer of my epidermal cells. At just 45 degrees Fahrenheit, I prepare myself for this early wintry weather that seems to have emerged without advance notice.

The day ends with ice-cold droplets of precipitation that strike hard at my colorful tie-dye umbrella. As I rush to the entrance, I breathe a sigh. Finally, I’m in a place where there is warmth. The ice-like droplets shall attack me no more, until the next day.

Powerless and unable to control the skies, I can only wait until the clear, icy droplets become fully solidified creamy white crystals. Perhaps then, I’ll enjoy its sparkling beauty.

Sunday, 11 October 2009

The Ludicrous Bug Bite that Became an Emergency

Two Fridays ago, I came back from a gathering between students and professors and noticed that my fourth knuckle was slightly red and itchy. Without hesitation, I gave it a good scratch, hoping that it would stop itching. I took a shower and went to bed, ignoring the redness of my knuckle.

The next morning, I awoke and immediately noticed the swollen size of my fourth knuckle. Indeed, it must have been a bug bite. I applied ointment to it, hoping that it would help with the swelling. Four hours later, half of my left hand became swollen. Wow, this must be a rather severe allergic reaction to a bug bite, I thought. I was having a little trouble moving my pinky and fourth finger. It was by far the worst bug bite I've ever had. Finally, it got to the point where I could not even make a fist with my left hand. I could barely bend the pinky, fourth, and third fingers. After talking to my mom on the phone, the final decision was to make a trip to the emergency. And off I went.

Left hand

Right hand for comparison.

I walked across the street and found the emergency room after entering the wrong lobby. I registered myself and sat down. It was approximately 7:30pm. The nurse at the front desk kindly gave me an ice pack to reduce this ridiculous swelling. Then, remembering that being in an emergency room meant long hours of waiting, I went back to my apartment to grab something to read (my readings for Public Health History). I went back into the waiting room and at 11:45pm, I was starving. So, I went back to my apartment again to grab a very late dinner. Afterwards, I went back to the waiting room again.

Moments later, a nurse from the ER came and finally read off a patient's name. "You won the lottery!" she exclaimed. The patient was about to fall asleep (she had been waiting since 5pm that day). During the next few hours, I kept myself busy by reading the articles I had brought along. Unfortunately, that did not go very well since the pain in my left hand due to the swelling continually disrupted my focus. I ended up following a crime investigation closely on Channel 3. A nurse came in and called out the next patient on the list. But there was no response. She proceeded to the next few on her list.

And I think I must have fallen asleep somewhere in the middle because the next time I opened my eyes, it was 6am! The security was taking names of all the patients who were still sitting in the waiting room. Apparently, some of the patients, like me, had fallen asleep and did not respond when their names were called. I was apparently called just a few hours earlier. Darn! If only I hadn't fallen asleep! I had to re-register myself according to their procedures.

There was no way I would miss my name being called this time around. A nurse came in a few minutes later, calling, "Christopher!" She walked around and asked a man who had just dozed off, "Do we perhaps have a sleeping Christopher?" The man woke up and followed the nurse into the ER. So when I finally got called, it was around 7:00AM. I was instructed to wait on one of the chairs towards the back. I must have dozed off again, because the next thing I knew, a physician had introduced himself as Dr. _____. I woke up without even hearing or remembering his name, and began to explain about my swollen left hand.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going make a mark on your arm," he said after noting the extent of the redness on my left hand. He drew a line on my left wrist and then proceeded with routine questions. "Hmm... I think we'll put you on antibiotics. But let me get another doctor for second opinion. Wait here." So I waited for some time. Another physician came up to me and I proceeded to explain my situation again. She looked at her clipboards and then confirmed with me that I would indeed be put on antibiotics, stating that I must not miss a dose at all. The nurse, who led me into the ER, proceeded to insert the needle into my right arm. I was getting my first dose of antibiotics via the IV bag.

After about an hour, another nurse came and proceeded with an EKG. For the first time, I had these stickers stuck all over me. Good thing the print-out looked normal. Finally, the first doctor came back with the prescriptions as well as the instructions for taking medications. "How're you feeling?" he asked. "I'm feeling a little better; my hand isn't as red anymore." Taking a good look at my left hand, he added, "Yeah, it already looks better." He then instructed me to keep a close eye on the redness and swelling of my left hand. "Make sure the redness and swelling does not continue past the line I drew on your wrist. If it does, come back to the ER immediately."

After I went home, I read through the stack of papers that I was given. Apparently I was diagnosed with "hand cellulitis"! Wow. I hoped the bacteria that were causing redness and swelling were not antibiotic resistant! And the antibiotics (keflex) did help a lot. My left hand is now looking normal. I think I made my bug bite severe by scratching it in the first place, although it's possible the insect could have already infected me with microorganisms at the time I was bitten. That was such a nightmare come true.

Saturday, 03 October 2009

So Close!

With confidence, I pick up my black pen and print my full name at the top right-hand corner. Beneath, I include the name of the course, followed by honoring it with my Professor's name. Then I proceed to enter date below everything else.
The assignment was more of a review. I know this stuff! Mean, median, mode, SD, SEM ... it's all coming back! With ease, I navigate through the first page, transcribing my solutions onto neatly lined paper. There was no need for whiteout--for once, my thoughts were flawless. My pen was working so smoothly (it doesn't pause and frustrate me with its refusal to allow the flow of ink onto paper).
As I approach the very last question, oh the pain! Why can't I be certain of its rightful solution? If there were one more piece of information, my puzzle would be complete! Now my pen lies on my fat 5-subject notebook. My TI-30XIIS calculator takes this awful moment to sleep while I sit in despair. If only I could be certain. If only that final piece to my puzzle were found. For now, my answer will remain open-ended.
On a completely separate note, these two bug bites are making me slightly handicapped. How could I assume that Philly wouldn't have these tiny and yet poisonous flies? I forget. It's humid, just like Taiwan. I feel the need to punch something to eradicate this insane itchiness. My knuckles are completely swelled up. You can't even play the whole (Jan., Feb., Mar., ... etc) month game where the knuckles represent months with 31 days and the valleys represent months with 30 (or less) days. Nevertheless, I can still faithfully raise my bug-bitten fist into the air and cry, "GO BEARS! BEAT USC!"
Good day, everyone.

Currently
Basic & Clinical Biostatistics (LANGE Basic Science)
By Beth Dawson, Robert Trapp, Beth Dawson, Robert Trapp
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Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Mahn-Toh and its lack of juiciness

Recently, my mom found a new hobby--baking Chinese (Taiwanese) pastries. She gets up at 5AM to drive my dad to the bus station so that he can sleep on the bus and not have to drive through the long and endless morning traffic. Then she drives back home to start preparing the dough with her bread-making machine. With many thanks to the wonderful engineers we have in the 21st century, making dough just can't get any easier.
The next step is to prepare that juicy stuff, which is to be placed comfortably in the center of the flattened dough. She scoops out that red bean stuff and carefully allows it to settle in a steel mixing bowl. Scraping the edges of the can, she searches fiercely for any remaining parts of red bean. I'm actually imagining all of this, because usually, I'm still asleep by the time she finishes baking these pastries. So when the dough is finally done, she kneads the dough until it is ready for the important part--the addition of that red bean stuff. She rolls the dough into a nice long cylindrical figure, and with her cooking knife, she severs it into many cylindrical disks. With each disk-shaped dough, she flattens it out with her flour-covered hands and allows that juicy red bean stuff to settle perfectly on the center. Finally, it is time to wrap the red bean stuff by folding the outer edges over it, making a spiral design at the the top.
After steaming these pastries, she places each one carefully on a dish. I awake from the wonderful aroma of these pastries and wander downstairs to get a taste. I sink my teeth into one of them and become filled with the joy that is brought out by that red bean stuff. "Here, have some more," she says, handing me a plate with ones that looked not as round. I picked up another one and took a bite. To my dismay, there was no juiciness--no red bean stuff! Okay, calm down, I said to myself. Perhaps this one had a smaller amount of that red bean stuff. I proceed with another bite, and became quite disappointed. With the remaining small piece in my hand, I asked, "Did you forget to put red bean stuff in this one?" "No!" she answered. "It's Mahn-Toh," she added. She took one and commented on her own work, saying that it was delicious.
Delicious? You mean disappointing! Perhaps it is I with a major psychological problem--but still, biting into a pastry where the inside is relatively made of the same stuff as the outer edge is simply not very exciting. The point of putting that red bean stuff in the center of all that carbohydrate is to complement the drier portion by adding juice (such as that red bean stuff, or just any kind of stuff). But when I bite into that Mahn-Toh, I feel that disatisfaction of never tasting the juiciness that should exist at the very core of it. To give my mom the benefit of the doubt, I've come to the conclusion that she made Mahn-Toh only because there was not enough of that red bean stuff to go around. These Mahn-Tohs, although they are disqualified from my own standards of what a pastry should be, have been forgiven.

Currently
Major Problems in the History of American Medicine and Public Health (Major Problems in American History Series)
By John Harley Warner, Janet A. Tighe, Thomas Paterson
see related

Thursday, 28 May 2009

Wisdom -- something I lack

Wisdom Better Than Folly

"I also saw under the sun this example of wisdom that greatly impressed me: There was once a small city with only a few people in it. And a powerful king came against it, surrounded it and built huge siegeworks against it. Now there lived in that city a man poor but wise, and he saved the city by his wisdom. But nobody remembered that poor man. So I said, "Wisdom is better than strength." But the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are no longer heeded.

The quiet words of the wise are more to be heeded than the shouts of a ruler of fools. Wisdom is better than weapons of war, but one sinner destroys much good."

Ecclesiastes 9:13 - 18

Wisdom -- something I seek.

Sunday, 12 April 2009

Tis the Season to be a Naughty Tick

There it was, tightly threaded to the girl's head, the blood-loving tick. Its oddly shaped figure eight body hung from where its mouthpiece was burrowed deep into the pore between the roots of the hair. Lifeless, and yet it clung on so tightly and effortlessly. It became the center of attention to all those who were in the same room.

Meanwhile, the little girl squirmed in her mother's arms, trying to amble her way around to the side of the bed. "Hold still, honey", the mother kept a firm grip on her daughter. Soon, they became like still art -- their breathing barely audible. With steady gloved hands, the doctor gently wrapped a thin tissue around the lethargic tick and tightened his grip. Placing his left hand on the girl's head to prevent any sudden head jerks, he tugged at the tick, positioning his grip tangent to the site of penetration. A small portion of the scalp lifted along with the tick's mouthpiece, which consisted of many hook-like features to secure for itself an undisturbed blood meal. Nevertheless, the tick's mouthpiece lost its grip and slipped out from the pore, leaving behind a faint red color.

"Ah, you know, this tick is dead. I think it's been dehydrated for a long time", commented the doctor. After reassuring the mother that the tick was nothing to worry about, he added, "If you're concerned about Lyme Disease, we can send the specimen up to our lab and find out."

Nodding in relief, the mother replied, "Yeah, at first the tick was the color of her [scalp], and so we didn't notice that the tick was there. Then we saw these tiny legs sticking out and realized that it was there."

With the deceased tick sealed in a sterile container, the mother and her little girl left with a souvenir in their hands.

Sunday, 22 March 2009

The Waiting Game

I walked into the lounge area to retrieve patient charts. Sitting at one of the computers was a woman who looked as if she had been up all night and even dragged herself to work on a beautiful Saturday morning. She looked at me as if I were crazy. Why are you here at this hour when you should be at home enjoying the weekend?
I proceeded to distribute the forms into each subfolder in the red binders. After attaching the name cards to the front, I continued on to change the sheets of the vacated rooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a young boy, probably still in elementary school, who was pacing back and forth at the entrance. I headed on over to ask if he was waiting to be seen or if he was looking for someone.
"Are you still waiting?"
The boy nodded.
"Yeah, we've had a lot of people who came in this morning. If you want, I can check to see when you're up. What is your last name?"
The boy answered, hoping the wait would not be too long.
"Ok. I will go check for you."
I went to the stack of patient charts and noticed the boy's surname was printed neatly at the top of the list. Sweet! He's up next. The boy stood patiently as I assured him that his turn would be in approximately ten to fifteen minutes. Almost immediately after my short announcement, a woman in green walked up to me and asked, "Are we next?"
"Are you with the boy?"
"No. Do you know who I am?"
I shook my head, "I'm sorry, what is your last name?"
The woman replied with a stern face.
"Ok. I can check to see where you are on the list."
"Good. I just want to know if the wait will be very long."
I went back to the list and noticed there were three people ahead of her. Hmm ... she'll have to wait a while. I went back to her and informed her of her current position on the list. She proceeded to ask, "Do you know how long this will be?"
"I would say at least half an hour. Unfortunately, we only have two doctors here today at the moment; and our rooms are nearly filled."
"Ok. Do you think I'll have time to go to the cafeteria? And where is the cafeteria?"
"Cafeteria is on the second floor. You can just take the elevators right here down the hall. Once you get to the second floor, look for the blue sign and it will tell you where to find the cafeteria."
"Ok. Thank you."
The woman called her son and both left to head up to the cafeteria. Meanwhile, the young boy was still pacing back and forth. I went back to his brother's chart and noticed they came in at 10am. I checked my watch; it was 11:15AM! Just then, the nurse went up to the phone and announced, "[patient's name], please come across to room 114." Before the nurse could pick up the chart, the young boy and his family had already walked in. The boy gave a smile as he proceeded to one of the empty rooms.
Meanwhile, an aunt took her neice, who was dressed in a green toddler gown, for a little walk. Standing at the tip of her tippy toes, the wee little toddler attempted a high step forward, but her weight shifted to the side.
"How old is she?"
"Nine months."
"Wow. And she's learning how to walk already!"
"Yeah. She takes off like a jet!"
"That's amazing. She wants to run before she can walk!"
"Yeah. Her mother's inside with a bad cough. I think we better get back inside cuz the doc's coming."
The aunt guided her neice back into the room where the mother waited. Then the door was shut as the doc went in. Down the hall, I noticed the young boy was peeking his head out of one of the rooms. As I neared the entrance, he stood outside one of the rooms and attempted to read the letters on the Eye Chart in front of him.
"E .... M ..... W .... ," his eyes squinted at the small print.
"You can probably step a little closer. Right now you're standing a little far."
"E, M, W, M, W, E," read the boy with shining confidence. His sister stood behind him and watched as her big brother gave himself an eye exam.
"Can you see the eighth line?"
"E ..E ... W ... M...W....E...(etc.)"
"Awesome. You got the letters correct. Can you see the bottom-most line?"
"E... M...W....W...M...it's so small."
"You're fine as long as you can see the eighth line. That means you have 20/20 vision. See here? It says 20/20. These letters are the size of what you'd see if you were 20 feet away."
"Oh. And this says, 10 feet," remarked the boy, pointing to the 9th line.
"Yeah, that was the bottom-most line that you were trying to read"
"Are you a nurse?"
"No. I'm a volunteer."
"Oh. I thought you were a nurse. What grade are you in?"
"Actually, I'm in college. Fourth year."
"Oh. Are you studying to be a doctor? or Nurse?"
"Um. I'm not sure. I'm applying for grad schools right now. I'm thinking of going into research at this point."
"So what are you studying."
"I'm majoring in Biochemistry; so basically science."
"You don't want to be a doctor?"
"I'm still undecided. But I'll most likely go into research first and then see what happens."
"Oh. Is it a lot of schooling to become a doctor?"
"Yeah. Long time."
"I think I'm done once I finish twelfth grade."
"No college for you?"
"Um. I don't know about college."
"I think you should consider it. It's a good experience. It's very different from k-12 schools. As a college student, you can plan your own schedule and study what you find most interesting."
"How much is it a semester?"
"It's expensive. It's about $3,800 a semester now."
"What? How much do you pay?"
"I pay $3,800. But on top of that I have a scholarship and parental support."
"I don't think I want to go to college. My dad is a cook. So, I help my dad everyday. And I get paid too! Fifteen dollars a day. But I'm not helping my dad today because I came here with my brother. Oh, and you know spaghetti? That stuff with the meatballs?"
"Yeah."
"My dad taught me how to make it. And now I can make spaghetti with meatballs!"
"That's awesome! Good for you. So you want to be a chef like your dad?"
"Yeah. I want to be a cook."
"Do you know where you want to work?"
"Anywhere. I just want to be a cook. Do I need college?"
"Um ... I'm not sure about that. But it's a good idea to ask about culinary schools. You can probably learn more about being a chef and make tasty food for people. Depending on what type of restaurants you work at, you might end up serving fancy dishes."
"Like, fifty dollars for a piece of bread?"
"Yeah. Those places are expensive."
"No thanks. I think I'll just finish school at the twelfth grade. I'm not sure about college."
"You could probably start saving up for college."
"Are there scholarships?"
"Yeah. There are plenty. You can also get financial aid, where you borrow money from the government and pay it back after you get a job."
The boy nodded and went back into the room where his brother was being examined. I returned to the lounge area to retrieve more charts. The woman who looked like she had pulled an all-nighter had already retreived the tube and opened it at the coffee table. Smiling at me for the first time of the day, she handed me the chart, "Here you go, thanks." I took the chart and replied, "Thanks."
At the end of the day, it's just a job.

Tuesday, 17 March 2009

And Time passes by

Rejections are cruel. I am taking Microbiology for the sake of the possibility of getting into Optometry School. Altogether, I'm carrying this 20 unit workload and it's not working very well. Sometimes, I wanted to walk back to my apartment, log onto my peralta account, and drop the course. Maybe it was all a waste of time to switch from pre-med to pre-optometry. Maybe I should have just saved myself some time and money and made plans for my 2 years off after graduation. And then ... maybe all of this mess is in God's hands.

Saturday, 17 January 2009

Turtles Go to Heaven

On the ride back, my mom informed me of a change in my dad's attitude towards turtles. Prior to this, he had mentioned that he would treat the turtles as trash and toss them if my mom or I were to ever buy one as a pet. Over the winter break, I had been taking care of one of my roommate's turtles, named Fig and Twig. They are looking quite healthy, despite the coldest moments in January.

Just earlier this morning, before my parents came to pick me up, my Dad walked into this study and noticed that Fig ducked his head under water due to a door slam. Twig, on the other hand, had no particular reaction. Then my Dad proceeded to his computer and started coding for a project. A few minutes later, he turned his head towards the turtles and coincidentally, Fig slipped under the water again! Being a keen observer, my Dad decided to perform an experiment.

Stealthily, my Dad transported my mom's mirror into this study and set it on the corner of his book case in juxtaposition to his computer. From there, my Dad could see Fig and Twig stretch their necks out of the water for fresh air. Singing Amazing Grace, my Dad kept a close watch on the turtles by staring into the mirror, which reflected the images of Fig and Twig. At the sound of these songs, Fig and Twig held their heads up high and slowly moved toward the rocks. When my Dad switched to a more energetic Chinese gospel song, Fig immediately jumped into the water and started swimming as if he found gold. Continuing on with his experiment, my Dad sang another hymn with a moderately slower rhythm. This time, Twig and Fig stood still with their heads penetrating out of the water.

Incidentally, my mother concluded that Twig and Fig were Christian turtles. Based on the data my Dad collected (in his memory), Fig and Twig listen to hymns and respond to them in different ways. Well, if you asked me, this experiment was not all that great since there wasn't some sort of a control (i.e. classical music, pop music, rock...etc). And if it were true that turtles can believe in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, by all means, let a turtle pastor baptize them in their tank and pray that they enter heaven. Amen, brother and sister turtles.