My sister, Honora, is graduating this Sunday. She’s the last in a long line of grey hairs for my folks and I’m so proud that she’s leaving the state for Regis University. Get free, Honora. Get free.
Speaking of freedom, the hog squeals again. I dumped $300 into my moped to get it running again and it feels great to be cheating death on a daily basis. Just yesterday I was trying to pass someone that decided to swerve violently in front of me and slam on the brakes in hopes of causing an accident. Thank you slackline; the balance you taught me saved my life. It was over before I knew what happened, but the students in the car behind me let me know:
“He tried to kill you. You tried to swerve out of the way and your bike went sideways and skid forward a yard without flipping on top of you, and then you got control and went to the side of the road. He looked back at you and screamed something. It was definitely on purpose. Is your foot ok?”
I look down to see that two of my proud climbing callouses have been ripped from my foot and the holes are bleeding. Sandals are not protective. I thanked them for checking on me and continued driving towards the nearest bandaid. I think that when my life really is in danger I’m going to be robbed of the whole “life flashing before the eyes” bit since near as I can tell I just draw blanks. The bike is now for sale.
For the first time since coming to Grenada a year and a half ago, I’m homesick. It doesn’t help matters that I am alone now since Sherin and I divorced. Sorry to dash so many hopes about torturing her in Michigan but it isn’t to be. No, I don’t want to talk about it. And instead of dealing with it in a mature way, I’ve elected for distraction.
This includes looking online for a tutorial on how to whistle with two fingers. I have technique but not power. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes. I still say the alphabet backwards once a day.
I edited the paper for the Annals and sent it back. Two days ago I received notice that it was accepted. I feel sorry for everyone with a birthday that’s 4-6 months away, because you’re getting a copy of the Annals of Thoracic Surgery that you DO NOT WANT and WILL NOT READ but are GETTING ANYWAY. I found out that I have one of the oral presentation slots for Congress this summer. I’m up against 14 other students, one of which won the prize last year. I have it on good authority that the boy whose voice cracks the most often will win this year. Fingers crossed.
The exams I studied so much for went well and while Path still remains, Microbiology is over. I learned some amazing things in that course and am sad to see it go. A few of the gems:
Military officers do not contract gonorrhea, that’s for enlisted men. Officers are afflicted with “bacterial urethritis.”
I rarely spell “gonorrhea” correctly. In fact, all medical words that contain an “h” have to be preceded by “rr.” Diarrhea, amenorrhea, rrhiccup, and so on.
Doctors are paid by the syllable and charged by the word. That’s why you’ll hear “Pyelonephritis by hematogenous spread” instead of “The bacteria got to your kidneys by your blood.” If each word costs a dollar and each syllable pays a dollar, the first sentence pays $9, the second sentence pays $4. So as a physician, I can either be plain-spoken and poor or rich and confusing. I think I’ve found my calling.
That’s all for now. CONGRATULATIONS HONORA!