January 8th, 2005
I did it. I'm officially a medical student.
I go see Hal when I can, he's kinda the only friend I've got. It's getting more difficult now, especially since he's out of the hospital.
For now.
I don't know why I'm so damn attached to him. Maybe I just picked him to be a stand-in for my dead dad. He's pretty good at it, telling me all the time to get my ass in gear and not to sweat the little shit.
I also discovered that Dr. O'Malley, the one who sat in on my admissions interview, will be teaching my medical Anatomy class. He says I remind him of his daughter.
I've begun publishing unfinished entries as a way of allowing readers to preview the entries which are yet to come. Also, the dates don't mean anything as far as actual in-game chronology goes.
Saturday, January 8, 2005
Thursday, August 19, 2004
He Needs a Revolving Door
August 19th, 2004
Hal has decided to move closer to the hospital. He's in and out so often that it isn't always convenient for him to go all the way back to L.A.
In other news, the regular semester is about to start back up. Summer was brutal but I'm keeping the streak alive.
Hal has decided to move closer to the hospital. He's in and out so often that it isn't always convenient for him to go all the way back to L.A.
In other news, the regular semester is about to start back up. Summer was brutal but I'm keeping the streak alive.
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Auspice
May 15th, 2004
Happy Birthday to me~!
Twenty years ago on this, the most auspicious of days, the world was blessed with me.
At least, I hope that's how the world sees it, when all is said and done.
Happy Birthday to me~!
Twenty years ago on this, the most auspicious of days, the world was blessed with me.
At least, I hope that's how the world sees it, when all is said and done.
Friday, April 2, 2004
Don't Look Back in Anger
April 2nd, 2004
I elected not to burn the journal, obviously.
Well, that's not entirely true.
Hal talked me out of it.
"Keep it around, peach. It'll show you where you've been so you can remember where you're going."
So I guess to keep moving forward, I have to occasionally look back.
I elected not to burn the journal, obviously.
Well, that's not entirely true.
Hal talked me out of it.
"Keep it around, peach. It'll show you where you've been so you can remember where you're going."
So I guess to keep moving forward, I have to occasionally look back.
Wednesday, March 3, 2004
I Got Better.
March 3rd, 2004
I've told Dr. Thrace that I think I'll be alright without any more sessions. She seems reticent to agree with me. She doesn't think a year is enough time for me to "effectively process and resolve the trauma" I've experienced.
"Maybe it isn't," I admitted to her. "Maybe I'll never be completely alright, maybe I will never completely resolve it. Maybe, like my side, I'll always have some mass of scar-tissue memories in my head, spider-webbing into all of my attempts to act like a normal and undamaged human being. But I'm functioning now. I'm keeping a job, making the Dean's List. I'm doing alright."
She frowned. "How's your social life, Laurel? Made any friends? Boyfriends? Lovers?"
I went on the defensive. "I don't have time for -"
"Friends," she finished my sentence. "No time for people. I really don't think you're as healthy as you pretend. What you witnessed has left you damaged, in more ways than you know. We haven't even addressed the impact this incident has had upon your sexual life."
"None," I said tersely. "Because I don't have one."
"Right," she nodded. "No time. Exactly how many men, or women if you prefer, have you even noticed in the last year?"
"Men. None."
"And that doesn't seem abnormal to you? You are, objectively speaking, a very attractive young woman, Laurel. I would have anticipated..."
"What, that I'm a slut?? That I'm pretty and so I try to fill the vacancy my parents left with the nearest penis? I'll let you in on a little secret that's really none of your goddamned business, doc. I went overseas a virgin, I came back a virgin. Nothing I've seen or heard has exactly made me eager to change that." I stood, becoming more furious with every word.
"And this," I gestured, palm down with splayed fingers, "this is getting old."
I haven't seen or intended to see her since I stormed out of her office, last month. I'm thinking of burning this whole thing.
I've told Dr. Thrace that I think I'll be alright without any more sessions. She seems reticent to agree with me. She doesn't think a year is enough time for me to "effectively process and resolve the trauma" I've experienced.
"Maybe it isn't," I admitted to her. "Maybe I'll never be completely alright, maybe I will never completely resolve it. Maybe, like my side, I'll always have some mass of scar-tissue memories in my head, spider-webbing into all of my attempts to act like a normal and undamaged human being. But I'm functioning now. I'm keeping a job, making the Dean's List. I'm doing alright."
She frowned. "How's your social life, Laurel? Made any friends? Boyfriends? Lovers?"
I went on the defensive. "I don't have time for -"
"Friends," she finished my sentence. "No time for people. I really don't think you're as healthy as you pretend. What you witnessed has left you damaged, in more ways than you know. We haven't even addressed the impact this incident has had upon your sexual life."
"None," I said tersely. "Because I don't have one."
"Right," she nodded. "No time. Exactly how many men, or women if you prefer, have you even noticed in the last year?"
"Men. None."
"And that doesn't seem abnormal to you? You are, objectively speaking, a very attractive young woman, Laurel. I would have anticipated..."
"What, that I'm a slut?? That I'm pretty and so I try to fill the vacancy my parents left with the nearest penis? I'll let you in on a little secret that's really none of your goddamned business, doc. I went overseas a virgin, I came back a virgin. Nothing I've seen or heard has exactly made me eager to change that." I stood, becoming more furious with every word.
"And this," I gestured, palm down with splayed fingers, "this is getting old."
I haven't seen or intended to see her since I stormed out of her office, last month. I'm thinking of burning this whole thing.
Friday, January 30, 2004
A Change of Scenery
January 30th, 2004
Amber's started bringing guys back to our room. I'm suddenly even more glad that Hal is in town, I'll have to see if he minds me bringing in my homework to do in his room.
Just like old times.
Amber's started bringing guys back to our room. I'm suddenly even more glad that Hal is in town, I'll have to see if he minds me bringing in my homework to do in his room.
Just like old times.
Friday, January 23, 2004
O Fortuna
January 23rd, 2004
Harold Della'Alba is stalking me. Not really, but kinda. He transferred to Alta Bates for some new, experimental and mostly theoretical treatment being performed in collaboration with UC Berkeley and UC San Francisco.
He hadn't called in a while, and I was starting to worry. I decided to call him. I was on break, standing next to the nurse's station and talking to Alma. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed his number.
"O Fortuna!" began playing in the room across the hallway. I hung up. I waited. The opera stopped.
I dialed again.
"Sors immanis, et inanis..." I hung up and poked my head into the room.
"Well, hey there peach. Long time, no see."
Harold Della'Alba is stalking me. Not really, but kinda. He transferred to Alta Bates for some new, experimental and mostly theoretical treatment being performed in collaboration with UC Berkeley and UC San Francisco.
He hadn't called in a while, and I was starting to worry. I decided to call him. I was on break, standing next to the nurse's station and talking to Alma. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed his number.
"O Fortuna!" began playing in the room across the hallway. I hung up. I waited. The opera stopped.
I dialed again.
"Sors immanis, et inanis..." I hung up and poked my head into the room.
"Well, hey there peach. Long time, no see."
Thursday, January 1, 2004
Bigger Blessings
January 1st, 2004
Happy New Year!
Here's my resolution: I'm going to try. Try to be better, stronger, faster. No one else I'm supposed to protect is going to end up like those kids in Kabul.
Happy New Year!
Here's my resolution: I'm going to try. Try to be better, stronger, faster. No one else I'm supposed to protect is going to end up like those kids in Kabul.
Friday, September 19, 2003
Small Blessings
September 19th, 2003
Sorry Dr. Thrace, I haven't had much time for this stuff. Classes aren't hard, but they keep me busy. Too busy to think too much, which I like.
And ABMC is working me pretty hard, too. 18 class hours a week and 30 work hours doesn't leave much time for me to play "Dear Diary."
On the bright side, my roommate Amber is usually crashing in the bed of some "total hottie," leaving the dorm room to me. It's quiet, most of the time.
Sorry Dr. Thrace, I haven't had much time for this stuff. Classes aren't hard, but they keep me busy. Too busy to think too much, which I like.
And ABMC is working me pretty hard, too. 18 class hours a week and 30 work hours doesn't leave much time for me to play "Dear Diary."
On the bright side, my roommate Amber is usually crashing in the bed of some "total hottie," leaving the dorm room to me. It's quiet, most of the time.
Friday, August 22, 2003
Moving On
August 22nd, 2003
It took eight trips and two going away parties, but I am finally settled in the dorm. Classes start tomorrow.
My roommate is going to drive me crazy, I can already tell. This conversation literally happened:
"I don't know why they bother grading me, I'm just here for the boys. And really, I'm too cute to do anything like hard work."
"I think they grade you because this is supposed to be an institution of higher education instead of a box social."
"Ew, who would socialize in a box?? Don't they like, smell like hobos?"
I cannot be held responsible for any actions committed during a temporary loss of sanity resulting from prolonged exposure to stupid.
It took eight trips and two going away parties, but I am finally settled in the dorm. Classes start tomorrow.
My roommate is going to drive me crazy, I can already tell. This conversation literally happened:
"I don't know why they bother grading me, I'm just here for the boys. And really, I'm too cute to do anything like hard work."
"I think they grade you because this is supposed to be an institution of higher education instead of a box social."
"Ew, who would socialize in a box?? Don't they like, smell like hobos?"
I cannot be held responsible for any actions committed during a temporary loss of sanity resulting from prolonged exposure to stupid.
Tuesday, August 5, 2003
The Times, They Are A-Changin'
August 5th, 2003
I'm getting transferred to Berkeley, next week. I thought about getting rid of the house, but... it doesn't feel right. I can keep it, keep just paying the property taxes on it. There's enough fundage in Mom's settlement to cover that for several years. That may be what it takes, but dammit I'm getting my medical degree. Then it's onward with the plan. I'm going to kick ass, be a hot Doogie Howser, have my whirlwind romance with the love of my life and have gorgeous and brilliant babies.
But the degree comes first. I'll have to live on campus, but the good news is the Alta Bates Medical Complex is just a hop skip and jump away from the dorms. Meaning, I can get there on foot. I can sell my piece of shit car, apply for scholarships and maybe not have to touch Mom's money. I feel like I should save it for something really important. What, like school? Well, yeah that's important. But I think I can do this without her money. I didn't do it her way so I don't completely feel like I deserve to use her money. Not yet.
Hal is getting released from the hospital tomorrow. "Until the tumors come back," he says. So I don't have to worry about him getting manhandled in the ward without me to look after him. I don't think he's got anyone at home, though. I feel kinda sad for him. I gave him my cell number, so he can call if he gets too lonely.
Deep breaths.
I can do this.
I'm getting transferred to Berkeley, next week. I thought about getting rid of the house, but... it doesn't feel right. I can keep it, keep just paying the property taxes on it. There's enough fundage in Mom's settlement to cover that for several years. That may be what it takes, but dammit I'm getting my medical degree. Then it's onward with the plan. I'm going to kick ass, be a hot Doogie Howser, have my whirlwind romance with the love of my life and have gorgeous and brilliant babies.
But the degree comes first. I'll have to live on campus, but the good news is the Alta Bates Medical Complex is just a hop skip and jump away from the dorms. Meaning, I can get there on foot. I can sell my piece of shit car, apply for scholarships and maybe not have to touch Mom's money. I feel like I should save it for something really important. What, like school? Well, yeah that's important. But I think I can do this without her money. I didn't do it her way so I don't completely feel like I deserve to use her money. Not yet.
Hal is getting released from the hospital tomorrow. "Until the tumors come back," he says. So I don't have to worry about him getting manhandled in the ward without me to look after him. I don't think he's got anyone at home, though. I feel kinda sad for him. I gave him my cell number, so he can call if he gets too lonely.
Deep breaths.
I can do this.
Friday, August 1, 2003
Good News, Bad News
August 1st, 2003
Ho-ly shit. I got in. The admissions committee decided to make an exception for me, based on the passion of my arguments and the display of academic fervor prior to my mother's death. Classes start in twenty two days. That's the good news, and the bad news. I can't quit work just to focus on school, because I don't think there's enough money in my mom's insurance fund to cover all of the tuition. I think I can get done in less than the traditional seven years, though. That will save me a little. They're working me a little harder at the hospital; Cecilia (the boss lady) is convinced I'm equipped to handle the added stress. I think she's a sadist.
At least I haven't gotten back into the habit of needing to sleep, that will help.
Ho-ly shit. I got in. The admissions committee decided to make an exception for me, based on the passion of my arguments and the display of academic fervor prior to my mother's death. Classes start in twenty two days. That's the good news, and the bad news. I can't quit work just to focus on school, because I don't think there's enough money in my mom's insurance fund to cover all of the tuition. I think I can get done in less than the traditional seven years, though. That will save me a little. They're working me a little harder at the hospital; Cecilia (the boss lady) is convinced I'm equipped to handle the added stress. I think she's a sadist.
At least I haven't gotten back into the habit of needing to sleep, that will help.
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Like Facing a Firing Squad
July 23rd, 2003
Just got back from an admissions interview at Berkeley. I think it went well, and I'm pretty sure that's not just the projection of wishful thinking.
One guy, a Dr. O'Malley, said I'd have a lot to make up for by looking at my grades. But, he'd continued, with a gentle smile, he understood that there'd been extenuating circumstances surrounding my graduation. They liked my essay, for which I was glad. It was all true, and it was all honest:
I want to go to school, to this school for a multitude of reasons. I want to honor my mother's memory. I want to keep the promise I'd made myself as a child: to help people.
That was how it started. I talked honestly about how those plans had been derailed. Then I talked about the consequences of ignoring my obvious path. That's really what I think happened. I don't know if it's as strong as destiny, but I have always, always known in my heart that I am meant to help people. I've spent some time deciding what that means, and trying to reconcile my selfishness with what help really means.
Help means giving people what they really need to improve their condition. Sometimes this might mean defending someone's right to die, and I know this sounds better and less tricky on paper than it will be when I really face it. It always sounds easy on paper, I'm sure of that.
Maybe that was the help my mom really needed. She didn't want a cure. She didn't want to be fixed. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to know I was going to be alright, and I denied her that because I was too young and too selfish to understand. She tried pointing me in the right direction, like she understood what I was meant for. Parents are their own kind of magic, I guess.
Only I was too stubborn to listen and when she decided I would be ok without her, I decided to prove her wrong. I ran away from what I was meant for, ran into a war and did all I could to get shot. Only they didn't shoot anything important. Each of the eight bullets I took outside of Kabul missed organs and arteries. I'm not a mathematician, I don't know what the chances of that are, but I know they are small. They were, I think, warning shots from the powers that be.
And now, after encouragement from my deceased mother and a crazy man dying from cancer, I want to help again. Every step I take in that direction makes me feel stronger and a little less off-balance.
Just got back from an admissions interview at Berkeley. I think it went well, and I'm pretty sure that's not just the projection of wishful thinking.
One guy, a Dr. O'Malley, said I'd have a lot to make up for by looking at my grades. But, he'd continued, with a gentle smile, he understood that there'd been extenuating circumstances surrounding my graduation. They liked my essay, for which I was glad. It was all true, and it was all honest:
I want to go to school, to this school for a multitude of reasons. I want to honor my mother's memory. I want to keep the promise I'd made myself as a child: to help people.
That was how it started. I talked honestly about how those plans had been derailed. Then I talked about the consequences of ignoring my obvious path. That's really what I think happened. I don't know if it's as strong as destiny, but I have always, always known in my heart that I am meant to help people. I've spent some time deciding what that means, and trying to reconcile my selfishness with what help really means.
Help means giving people what they really need to improve their condition. Sometimes this might mean defending someone's right to die, and I know this sounds better and less tricky on paper than it will be when I really face it. It always sounds easy on paper, I'm sure of that.
Maybe that was the help my mom really needed. She didn't want a cure. She didn't want to be fixed. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to know I was going to be alright, and I denied her that because I was too young and too selfish to understand. She tried pointing me in the right direction, like she understood what I was meant for. Parents are their own kind of magic, I guess.
Only I was too stubborn to listen and when she decided I would be ok without her, I decided to prove her wrong. I ran away from what I was meant for, ran into a war and did all I could to get shot. Only they didn't shoot anything important. Each of the eight bullets I took outside of Kabul missed organs and arteries. I'm not a mathematician, I don't know what the chances of that are, but I know they are small. They were, I think, warning shots from the powers that be.
And now, after encouragement from my deceased mother and a crazy man dying from cancer, I want to help again. Every step I take in that direction makes me feel stronger and a little less off-balance.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Progress
July 22nd, 2003
Dr. Thrace thinks I'm ready to stop seeing her on a weekly basis. She is of the opinion that I've made enough progress to switch to monthly appointments. For all of the good she's done me, I'm not sure why I'm paying her instead of Hal.
Dr. Thrace thinks I'm ready to stop seeing her on a weekly basis. She is of the opinion that I've made enough progress to switch to monthly appointments. For all of the good she's done me, I'm not sure why I'm paying her instead of Hal.
Friday, July 18, 2003
Just a Fading Memory
July 18th, 2003
I went and saw Hal again last night. He doesn't sleep much either, says the meds keep him awake. My shift ended, and I walked into his room carrying a big folder.
"What's that you got there, peach?" Hal smiled a little, a very subtle smile.
"Applications," I smiled back, but bigger. "I'm learning to listen to my elders."
We chatted some, but mostly I worked. He said he knew I'd be bringing these by.
As I filled out form after form for transcript requests, SAT scores and personal essays, I felt a little more right on the inside. Like someone was plucking all the shrapnel out of my throat and my heart. Like something was changing me, burning away who I used to be.
I know that Afghanistan changed me. For the better, I hope. I have a feeling I won't really know for a while.
I just know I'm not the same Laurel I was when my mom died. I'm scared and skittish and I don't like people touching me and most of the time I'd just rather be alone. So of course I'm pursuing a career where I'll be surrounded by people. Maybe, just maybe, if I can figure out how to fix them, I'll learn how to fix me.
"I used to be so big and strong, I used to know my right from wrong.
I used to never be afraid, I used to be somebody.
I used to have something inside, now just this hole it's open wide.
I used to want it all.
I used to be somebody.
I'll cross my heart and hope to die, but the needle's already in my eye.
And all the world's weight is on my back and I don't even know why.
And what I used to think was me is just a fading memory..."
Nine Inch Nails, Down in It
I went and saw Hal again last night. He doesn't sleep much either, says the meds keep him awake. My shift ended, and I walked into his room carrying a big folder.
"What's that you got there, peach?" Hal smiled a little, a very subtle smile.
"Applications," I smiled back, but bigger. "I'm learning to listen to my elders."
We chatted some, but mostly I worked. He said he knew I'd be bringing these by.
As I filled out form after form for transcript requests, SAT scores and personal essays, I felt a little more right on the inside. Like someone was plucking all the shrapnel out of my throat and my heart. Like something was changing me, burning away who I used to be.
I know that Afghanistan changed me. For the better, I hope. I have a feeling I won't really know for a while.
I just know I'm not the same Laurel I was when my mom died. I'm scared and skittish and I don't like people touching me and most of the time I'd just rather be alone. So of course I'm pursuing a career where I'll be surrounded by people. Maybe, just maybe, if I can figure out how to fix them, I'll learn how to fix me.
"I used to be so big and strong, I used to know my right from wrong.
I used to never be afraid, I used to be somebody.
I used to have something inside, now just this hole it's open wide.
I used to want it all.
I used to be somebody.
I'll cross my heart and hope to die, but the needle's already in my eye.
And all the world's weight is on my back and I don't even know why.
And what I used to think was me is just a fading memory..."
Nine Inch Nails, Down in It
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)