I admit it. I have no shame. I won’t make excuses. I cannot hide it any longer … I am a Triple Grande girl. There was a certain level of guilt or wonderment or incredulity when I finally admitted to myself one day that PA school has taken me to a new place - a place where I no longer am satisfied by my double tall sugar free hazelnut. It ran dry on a recent busy morning - right in between Common Ocular Disorders and Staging for Malignant Lung Neoplasms.
I looked at my empty cup, then my watch - it was only 9am - I resolved be proactive.
I wasn’t sure if I should take the leap - both emotionally or financially. Was there embarrassment involved? Should I be afraid that this is a ‘gateway beverage’ choice that would only lead to outrageous habits like bar hopping after school, having a ‘1950’s nightcap’ or worse - developing into a TWO a DAY kind of girl. Could I handle what the future would bring? Should I be praying about this?
With confidence I pulled into my usual Starbuck’s the next morning on Highway 8.
I opened the door and approached the counter. The barista smiled, greeted me as if it was an ordinary day, with an ordinary customer. She didn’t know it was such a big day for me - a Graduation day. I ordered…‘a triple grande, non-fat, sugarfree hazelnut latte’.
She took my debit card, didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t know.
Then - she looked up, smiled, cocked her blond head to one side and said, “has anyone told you…. you look like Jennifer Garner?”
Ahh, A sign….
All will be well.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Gross Anatomy
Written 07-23-05
We officially finished our cadaver experience – our much touted GROSS anatomy. Some of it was rather anti-climactic – the bodies were so dry and so dead and so old and so misshapen with giant livers, and square hearts and full cecums. But I guess that’s what we all are anyway. We always wanted more – more time with them, more flesh, more freshness, more structures that looked like the paintings in the books. But then we wanted less; less time, less smell of formaldehyde, less exam questions, less forced time in a cold room with dead bodies and itchy faces. So we got what we wished for and I’m a better person because of it. That first day of introduction was oh so long ago – and I’m ready to move on.
As we cleaned up the bodies – I was forced into song – literally - by the Lord I’m sure.
My voice began singing to them –quietly of course – but very distinct songs. I was singing for my old lady with the entire face and the obese guy with the large omentum and the muscular lady with the purple finger nails and the amazing quadratus lumborum. I was worshipping for them – in our wild and chaotic funeral service we had for them as we cleaned up the room, scouring the tables and ridding the room of liquid fat, old organs and pieces of lost flesh – I really couldn’t help singing. I hope my lady was looking at us – they almost seemed to be gazing down – relieved that they were done with their work on earth – they had one last noble job to do – to teach us what their insides really were – for better or worse – and they were finally finished. Revealing to us every internal secret, all the bottles of jack daniels they ever downed, the nasty midnight McDonald's runs - we could see it. We saw those stitches form the open heart surgery –the staples from the missing gallbladder - or that uterus that bore them their 3 children and remained intact through it all – complete w/ large fibroids. I really think our lady was watching and she was hanging out with us as we cleaned her up, stacked her with the rest and got them ready for the incinerator in their clean black plastic bags. They were done.
Officially done. Just like us. We all celebrated together.
And I sang.
We officially finished our cadaver experience – our much touted GROSS anatomy. Some of it was rather anti-climactic – the bodies were so dry and so dead and so old and so misshapen with giant livers, and square hearts and full cecums. But I guess that’s what we all are anyway. We always wanted more – more time with them, more flesh, more freshness, more structures that looked like the paintings in the books. But then we wanted less; less time, less smell of formaldehyde, less exam questions, less forced time in a cold room with dead bodies and itchy faces. So we got what we wished for and I’m a better person because of it. That first day of introduction was oh so long ago – and I’m ready to move on.
As we cleaned up the bodies – I was forced into song – literally - by the Lord I’m sure.
My voice began singing to them –quietly of course – but very distinct songs. I was singing for my old lady with the entire face and the obese guy with the large omentum and the muscular lady with the purple finger nails and the amazing quadratus lumborum. I was worshipping for them – in our wild and chaotic funeral service we had for them as we cleaned up the room, scouring the tables and ridding the room of liquid fat, old organs and pieces of lost flesh – I really couldn’t help singing. I hope my lady was looking at us – they almost seemed to be gazing down – relieved that they were done with their work on earth – they had one last noble job to do – to teach us what their insides really were – for better or worse – and they were finally finished. Revealing to us every internal secret, all the bottles of jack daniels they ever downed, the nasty midnight McDonald's runs - we could see it. We saw those stitches form the open heart surgery –the staples from the missing gallbladder - or that uterus that bore them their 3 children and remained intact through it all – complete w/ large fibroids. I really think our lady was watching and she was hanging out with us as we cleaned her up, stacked her with the rest and got them ready for the incinerator in their clean black plastic bags. They were done.
Officially done. Just like us. We all celebrated together.
And I sang.
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