Nurse Ratched Kicks Grand Rounds Oldskool

Nurse Ratched’s Place is the home of this week’s Grand Rounds, the best collection of recent posts from the medical blogosphere.  I loved the use of retro (I mean retro) photos showing how far medicine has come and how quackery still hasn’t changed much.  (my magentic bracelet hasn’t come in now that I think about it… heh)

Go check it out! Oh and happy ‘Diez y seis de septiembre‘, Mexican indepdendence day.  Unlike cinco de mayo which is all but ignored unless you live in Puebla, this holiday is the most important for the nation–their 4th of July, if you will. But it’s hard to make a beer/liquor campaign here in the US with such a long name.  Still, some people try like this group in Austin try to do it anyway and keep the true tradition alive.  I’m going to go do my part to celebrate *cough* *cough* later this afternoon on the other side of the border and hope Dept. of Homeland Security is gullible kind enough to let me back in.

Rapid Deceleration Trauma

The title pretty much sums up what’s going on right now. Things have been so crazy, by the time I’d even compose my thoughts about what to write, I’d already be just staring at the wall, comatose, or simply not coherent enough mentally to actually make it happen. I’m not going to go into any real details at this point, just use this small entry as a catch-up for what’s current right now. To help me be brief, here’s a simple list:

• I have left Mexico permanently. I am not a student this semester at UAG nor am I affiliated with the university in any way, officially or unofficially.
• The “privilege” of leaving Mexico involved hundreds of dollars to pay off immigration to have the proper “exit papers” which was needed as part of the university’s more specific need to have almost the janitor sign and stamp my paperwork saying I was leaving campus; in simple terms, I needed to prove I didn’t have outstanding debts, issues, etc. to get the final “OK” to leave from UAG, which also was the official “you don’t owe us anything after all” on paper.
• After weeks of work to get the above, I wasn’t to have a copy of the final document. I socially engineered a malleable secretary into a copy, because the university has been known to suddenly have “mysterious charges” on students’ accounts after they’ve left. Of course, if you want to be sure things are handled properly, you have to come in person…
• It’s official: I still don’t know who it was in administration that felt their Cheerios were pissed in. Because there are no Cheerios, nor can they confirm that there were any, but nevertheless, you can’t have breakfast. I asked three different ways, and was given multiply bullshit answers by the “Directora” of International Student Affairs, saying she didn’t know who it was. But she told her minion to tell me. But she doesn’t know. Riiiiight.
• I eventually did contract a moving company, but didn’t have enough money to do a full international move, contracting only to the Mexican city across the border. We sold about 50% of our “big stuff” hoping to bring the cost down, but as luck would have it, the price came down about 20%. We would have been better off not selling anything than selling stuff at $0.30-$0.40 to the dollar and taking a loss as we did. Except we got some liquid cash to use for the move, which is good. As is typical, there is never good without bad right about now.
• Partly due to convoluted customs laws on both sides my plan of going across to get our stuff in a borrowed flatbed and Yukon to tow our stuff back (unloaded from said moving truck) is not possible. Customs brokers (agencias aduanales) have a mafia-lock on border crossings on both sides, and trying to do something oneself without reams of paperwork serving little purpose is like walking onto the construction site in an episode of “The Sopranos” saying you’re there to do the plumbing. US Customs is transparent and easy to deal with if you know what you’re doing; you just will never get the proper equipment to do it with unless it fits in the back of a single vehicle. I now have to pay somebody money I don’t have (again, like “The Sopranos”)–the whole reason I didn’t choose the int’l move in the first place.
• I have no choice but to shack up at my parents’ place for the indefinite future given my financial position. I am thankful I do have a place to go, but what was livable over Christmas knowing we were only visiting 10-12 days (but grew more annoying as time passed) is now a paralyzing situation to have to deal with in terms of space, organization, and parental unit management. It’s not that it’s so bad–the digs are actually pretty comfy, and again, I’m blessed–it’s just given everything else, something like this is just over-the-top. We’ve gone from a two-story, 3 bedroom house–our own–to 2.5 rooms. With parents. Again.
• Simultaneously fighting every day with border people about our stuff. We’ve been here 5 days and have only barely unpacked the first of the suitcases that were in the car. I finally made the call today to send the stuff from Guadalajara (we were given a week of lag time, thank GOD), so it will be here mid-next week. I can only hope everything is worked out by then for something less costly than what I can make between now and then slapping my antecubital vein at the blood bank.
• I have already applied to another foreign school. US schools were never an option because US committees have to split hairs between the applicants with GPAs 3.85s vs 3.86, of candidates with 3 published articles in Nature, foreign volunteer work, and LORs from the respective chancellors of their university systems for their outstanding contributions to student government; therefore, applications for US programs to start this fall were due between September and November of last year. I’m not even at the point of getting an interview yet, so as far as I’m concerned, I’m at square 2. Maybe.

Now perhaps you can see why titled this post what I did. The juggernaut has (almost) come to full screeching halt, we’re out of Mexico for good, and, on the surface at least, ready for the next thing. However, being thrown off the bull doesn’t simply mean you’re safe; you may be on solid ground but you are by no means out of harms way. To stretch out the last little bit of this metaphor, the roller-coaster ride finally came to an end–not at the “normal” start/end point, but rather at the top of a precarious incline, leaving me to wonder how to climb down safely, if it’s even possible.

I’ll post “part #2″ in this barely-begun series later this weekend, which deals with how my former school continues to screw the pooch on a matter of major international concern. Tune back in soon–I promise this juicy installment has nothing to do with my personal woe and may indicate that karma is indeed a true force of nature. See you then!

Epiphanies, Part 1

Happy New Year!! I missed you all! I’m writing this in a Best Western in Monterrey, Mexico–a small overnight stopover on our way back to Guadalajara. I know in my last post that I said I’d write with a big update of school and all, but honestly, I never could get it together to post. All the stress of being away from home with the little one, worsening family tensions (outside us), and a much more somber tone from everyone it seemed, and we were ready to come home at our leisure shortly after Christmas, pending errands and things of that nature to do.

Then I came down with a rather virulent Man Cold. No sooner than I had started working that bell, Claudia got it as well. Then A got it–her first little cold ever. Knowing I was “Patient Zero” made me feel bad about it, but funny enough, she withstood it better than we did. New Year’s was just a couple of days away, so we figured “what the hell,” and decided to get better before adding more stress of yet another trip. Suddenly, I had a mini-epiphany: I thought to myself, “Why am I trying to hurry home to be there in time for offices, etc. to open (and school to start, but I can’t start with them), when they certainly won’t be in a hurry to help me?” Usually, I’d be stressed arriving before a school start a day or two before with so little time to get settled, recover from trip, etc. (I’m not a spring chicken anymore), but this time I said, “Screw it!” and will be arriving tomorrow, THE DAY OF. How about them apples!!

The title of the post is “Epiphanies,” and wouldn’t you know it, today is the celebration of the Epiphany (which, by the way, is the gift-giving part of the Christmas holiday here in Mexico–something I forgot about when I booked these tickets, reminded quickly by the crowds). I’m not going to go into any spiritual parallels–that would take too much brain power than I have at the moment–but I did have more than a couple of breakthroughs in the way I saw things.

First, like a scripted Zen Hollywood moment, I really did finally understand I am nothing. I am obviously nothing to the medical community, not even being a degreed/licensed anything medically–that was never in doubt. However, I am also a nothing to my school. My ace-in-the-hole in dealing with school was always that they couldn’t possibly stand their ground charging me for that unattended semester when they know they’d lose me as a student and forego 4x that amount in lost tuition. Even my being that cynical and making it all about money I overestimated my importance. What did I miss? The fact that my place can be replaced by any number of wide-eyed, eager, naive 20-somethings just waiting to have their shot at a medical career too. To be kind, UAG isn’t exactly “selective,” so it’s not about supply/demand, it’s just that there’s no shortage of students wanting to be physicians. Many will make good doctors if given the chance; quite a few have no business being anywhere near a white coat, but they all will come, and the school knows that. Losing me or any one student is meaningless. That was a tough lesson.

Second, I have no idea why this is happening to me right now, but one day soon I’ll be able to make some sense of it. Whether one ascribes it to “God’s plan,” or simply a time where lessons were learned, the worst that happens from this doesn’t break up my marriage, doesn’t carry the diagnosis of a terminal illness, or God forbid, the loss of a loved one. I’ve had a few friends and even a couple of doctors simply say, “Well, can you just go back to your old job? Or perhaps even turn this around and get a clinically relevant IT position somewhere?” (ie, medical informatics) At the time I heard that I was insulted, even though I knew they honestly, truly had my best interests at heart being people that I love and have known me for years. “I am not a quitter!” kept telling myself. But you get beat down so much, you start questioning yourself and wondering if the lesson that needs to be learned is “Enough is enough!” There have been precious few months of peace and tranquility in my life in the last 3-4 years, especially so since I started medical school. Nothing seems to come easy, without drama, without struggle. I’ve never expected things to just fall in my lap, but damn if I didn’t keep asking myself, “Is it supposed to be this hard?” I’ve been thinking lately of this Demotivators poster (and then saw this new one when getting the previous link…heh) and wondering if that’s me. It’s not about the academics, but academics isn’t the only player here. I am not willing to let it all go just yet, but I did have a “light bulb” moment that perhaps this isn’t supposed to be for me, which is a huge step for me to admit with seriousness, even if I’m nowhere close to accepting it should things go that way.

We have to be at the airport at 7:15am and I just saw it’s almost 2am, so I better finish this once I get back home. It’s weird having the juxtaposition of wanting to home so badly so you can settle back in, etc. but not know if you’ll have the home in a matter of weeks.

Quick update before travels

Sorry to all about working things up to a frenzy and not posting an update. It’s not because I was too busy or certainly that nothing was happening day-to-day. I thought it best not to exacerbate a potentially volatile situation with my school by lying low and reporting what happened after-the-fact. We have a plane to catch in about 8 hours, so I need to make this short: the school, in its infinite depths of new and creative ways to frustrate, has seen fit to not do anything. That’s right folks–seven days of “tomorrow, and maybe Tuesday; wait, no, maybe Thursday, well, if I don’t email you before Friday 5:00, then it’ll have to wait until January.” Did the “secret” committee meet? Who knows. My “contact” only has another “contact” which only tells her results, not schedules. So, as I said openly, no decision is a “no” decision because administrative offices (at least the ones I need) open here on the same day as my first potential day of class, imagine that! There’s no “getting ready” here, it seems.

It took serious fighting from Claudia and my mom to convince me that going back to Texas for a week or two was the best thing. I really don’t want to go home. Oh, I certainly was going to send the girls on their way and have mom and in-laws enjoy their granddaughter/niece, but being that I’ve been such a shit magnet and all-around grouch (when I’m not in a fetal position on the floor), I felt just “getting things done” in the way of packing, organizing, whatever was more for me. I can’t help feel like I’m going home a failure, even though this wasn’t my fault, obviously. (though I know there are those out there that say to yourselves, “Pfft, whatever….I wonder what really happened.” All I can say is that I’d be pretty f*cking stupid to have said all this publicly with my career on the line if I wasn’t truly this desparate and not able to back up 100% every claim I’ve made.) I don’t want to have to rehash the story, the agony, etc., no matter how well intentioned my family–which I’m lucky to have–will be. Financially, I don’t have the money to move anything except drive back the two cars, since there’s not much middle ground–either you get a big-ass moving rig or you don’t. There’s no “UHaul” here where I can pick my size and price. Rent is paid until Jan 15th. As long as we are going to lose 80-90% of what we own, what’s a a few more hundred dollars to fly back and have a family Christmas back home, right? It’s like a social engagement your obligated to attend, don’t want to go to, but still have a bit of hope that maybe you’ll loosen up and have a bit of fun once you get there. That’s the plan, anyway.

So, as usual, I’m way behind in getting things ready, especially since the travel plans were made just days ago. I’ll update everyone on what options I’m facing, point by point, and solicit opinions from the peanut gallery my dear loyal readers. (and I’m serious too, because nobody wants to read this crap during the holidays, I know. But it’s the only medium I have aside from suffering in solitary silence)

To all those traveling this weekend, be safe, be patient, and be happy. Nature demands equilibrium, and that means there are a couple of giddy-pee-pants happy people out there on my tab– “Merry Christmas!” I say to them and hope they don’t use it up all at once. More in a day or two from the good ‘ol USA!

Run! Run!

Trying to pack car….fast as possible…avoiding category 15 hurricane…aiieeeeee!!!!

This is actually deja-vu all over again, since when we first left for Mexico in the big house move in 2005, we were then outrunning (and eventually being overtaken by, as our movers were little girly men who didn’t want to get wet) what became non-newsworthy TS Emily.

No movers this time, just 4 months of wife’s and baby’s things (and perhaps something or two of me to wear if I am allowed) into a Ford Focus. Yeah. Fun times. Not.

Will be back online soon from the comparative paradise of Guadalajara weather, having recovered from chronic heatstroke, familial craziness, and a 14h drive with a 15-month-old in a roller skate that will probably leave me scarred. But to have family together again, all in our own home on our terms…priceless.

First things first, though, and we must outrun the perfect storm *snicker*, so the laptop lid closes for the last time as I pack, pack, pack and load, load load. Wish us well! Lots to write about when I get back…looking forward to it.

1 Year

My daughter turns one year old this weekend and I’ve come back to Texas to celebrate with the family. It seems so long ago that I saw my daughter born, so much has happened in between. I’ve gone from being a 1st year med student to a second year med student which is no big whoop, but compared to the upheaval in my personal life with baby, changes in marriage, sleep and study patterns, it seems like a lifetime ago. There is only one first birthday, though, and I had to come in, even though the party will be a small one with just family on both sides.

I need this trip badly. I need to hold my daughter once again, to remind myself of why things are worth it in spite of things seeming to be too hard. I need to spend time with Claudia in person instead of long-distance on the phone, where things always seem to be misunderstood and where it’s all too easy to say something insulated by distance that you’d at least think twice before saying in person. I need re-centering without all the stress caused by Claudia’s surgery and immediate recovery, the bullshit stressed imposed by school the last time with Kaplan–what a joke. It’s a fucking review course, people. If I’m not there for this lecture or that lecture, who cares? I sure don’t–not when family is involved. This isn’t coursework or patients, it’s lecture time that I paid for; I’ll do what I want with my time.

So here I am, waiting for the get-together soon. I’ve already spend some sorely needed time with the Niblet. She’s gotten two more teeth coming in and has progressed from “cruising” to full-out walking. (then squatting like an African bushman before standing back up and taking some more steps) Things with Claudia are going well so far, and I hope that the weekend continues to be one of healing for the marriage, and for me if I’m to go back for the home stretch before Step 1 with the motivation needed to succeed. There might be a light at the end of the tunnel yet.

Hi and Bye!

Hello all! Today begins Semana Santa, or “Holy Week” in the Christian calendar, which beginning on Palm Sunday, commemorates Christ’s entrance into Jerusalem and follows the last days of his life, his death, and his resurrection. It is the last week of Lent and is both the most pensive and important time in the church year.

In Mexico, it’s also the beginning of near anarchy. Being a 95% Catholic country, almost everyone has the week off. There is no comparison in the States; the entire country, with the exception of those involved in tourism/travel, all but shuts down. Especially here in Guadalajara, this also begins the mass exodus to nearby vacation spots, particularly Puerto Vallarta, Manzanillo and Mazatlán. Yesterday, I was running errands, and instead of the full-but-manageable traffic of a weekend afternoon, it was mad gridlock, people running red lights to avoid being stranded in intersections, people honking non-stop, and grandmothers beating each other with their canes–and that was just getting out of my driveway!

I too will join this mass exodus, but I am going back to Texas to finally reunite with my wife and daughter whom I miss so much. I am taking some study materials, but since Claudia is having knee surgery next week, the priority is just maximizing time with them, relaxing as much as I can, and just enjoying getting out of here in general. Vacation for us is two weeks, and I plan to be gone as much of that as possible. I’ll have internet connectivity here and there, but posting will be sporadic, as it has been this last week because everybody and their mother wanted stuff turned in before this break (and with good reason–it’s a ghost town otherwise).

I’ll write in the next couple of days, but now I must brave the airport and the sea of people waiting out the door. Literally. Those who have never been to a Mexican airport taking a domestic (not to/from the U.S.) flight during vacation season are missing one of the wonders of human social interaction. It’s a tense mix of near-warfare under a facade of orderliness. People even go so far as try to fly with cardboard boxes that must be taped down to not collapse. I am not joking. This is not just because they might be poor, but because in general, people seem to take everything including the kitchen sink and will use anything to board it. Hopefully, my time will be more serene. I can only hope!

Hello from “The Ranch”

I’m back in Tex-ass, and as usual, it’s been a craaazy transition back to the USA.  “The Ranch,” by the way, is the term of semi-endearment for my in-law’s house in a small city on the Rio Grande River. It used to be far removed from most vestiges of civilization, but the little town is economically booming to the point where it’s more and more doable to stay for extended periods of time with the new stores, restaurants, etc.

Regarding the trip back, it was nice spending time w/Claudia alone. We had a flat tire 3 hours into our trip and the densest fog I’ve ever seen about 3 hours from the border in the mountains outside Monterrey, NL.  By the time we crossed into the US–4 hours late after a 16+ hour trip–I gotta say: Mexico never looked so good than in the rear-view mirror. It’s precisely for this reason that I shock myself when I admit that a part of me wants to go back.  I hate calling myself a homebody, but the truth is that I need my own private space, a refuge, a Bat Cave^tm if you will, to be happy and collect my thoughts to not feel so scattered.  Most classmates, being of the younger, 20-something variety, make the transition home with ease, sinking back in their old, comfy bed with their rooms just as they left them.  Others may have moved out some time ago, but being single, they find a good spot in the house and call it theirs.

Married with a kid sharing a bedroom for almost a month with nowhere else to go in the house except to commune with the parental units?  Pass the Xanax, please.  Add to that the fact that we have to share time with both sides, and packing baby gear every time gets, um….old.  Simple checks like ”Honey? Did you remember to bring the Orajel for her gums?” quickly turn into “What the hell do I have to do, tattoo ‘ORAFUCKINGJEL’ on my forehead?!  The crying and 3 fingers in her mouth wasn’t enough of a reminder?!?”  Of course, I exaggerate (mostly) but you get the idea.

Internet connectivity has been spotty because of all the moving around and no wireless at either house, so I haven’t written on the blog and was in email read-only mode for the most part. If you’ve sent me email, you’ll get a reply shortly.  Otherwise, as soon as I get my RSS reader on my laptop updated with my .ompl files from my desktop which stayed in Mexico, I’ll be back commenting on the blogs.

P.S.  If anybody has any suggestions for offline newsreaders for Windows (ick), I’d appreciate the help.  Bloglines and other excellent online aggregators don’t help with the spotty connectivity I have here.  Danke.

Streams of Manzanillo Consciousness

(posted from individual writings, 14-15 October)
So I’m here on my hotel room balcony looking at the Pacific Ocean (technically, the Bahia del Manzanillo). I have never been on a true Pacific beach. The closest I got was Monterey, CA, but that was 1) way too cold (even in May) to enjoy the water, and 2) not much beach to speak of, mainly rocks. Unfortuantely, it’s so cloudy and drizzly (as it was in Monterey) that I am not going to realize the thing I wanted more than anything here–to see the sunset on the water. I came by myself because of some stuff that happened w/Claudia, and she agreed I shouldn’t let that keep me home and encouraged me to salvage what little vacation I could get for the four day weekend I had, so came by myself while she tended to her stuff.

I mention this change of plans because I downgraded the original room to the simplest accomodations, since it’s just me. Now that I’m in the sencillo (simple) room, I can’t imagine that the more expensive room would have been worth the money given it would be simply bigger with a king or 2 double beds (never know which you’ll get). I knew that this place was not resort-like, but it was rated highly by TripAdvisor. So, apparently, TripAdvisor is populated with a bunch of hippie gringos who think that lack of amenities makes things more “Mexican,” and that the notion that the less “inclusive”, the more out-of-the-way, and the more “rustic” (=run down shithole) the place is, the more of a fulfilling “native” experience they’ll get, since, after all, if they wanted The Hyatt, they’d have stayed in the U.S. Screw that. If I wanted to be uncomfortable, I’d have stayed at home and done chores. What do these people have against comfort and amenities? What’s the deal with these empty-nesters looking for a kibbutz or a hostel anyway? I want the mint on my pillow, dammit!

OK, let me say something right out–I hate bugs. I don’t mean little-girl-screaming-hate bugs, I mean I hate having to deal with them. I don’t want them in my stuff, I expect to be able to put a bag of chips on the nightstand, pop out my laptop, sip some water or Diet Coke, continue munching as I watch the latest episode of the newly-started season of Battlestar Galactica with no interruptions, and within 30 minutes not find the bag not where I left it, seemingly moving on its own volition towards the door carried by an army of little black ants.

I consider a vacation just that–a VACATION. I don’t want to clean up, I want to be comfortable, I want the room to be as cold as I want–suitable for hanging sides of beef from metal hooks if I so choose–and I think the concept of vermin, even harmless ones, like the little black “crack ants” (so named by a friend and me because they move erratically without any discernable purpose except when carrying food) should be a distant memory considering I’m 1) paying to stay here, and 2) the room gets cleaned daily. And I’ll give them that–the room was immaculately clean–it’s just that these little six-legged beasts are relentless. One thinks to pack “Off” on an outdoor vacation, not “Raid.”

One day however, long after “MD” has been attached to my name and freed of all residencies and fellowships (and also providing the trip is medically cleared by my geriatrician at the time), I will hopefully afford to come back and stay here. I bet they don’t have ants. Pfft.

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When I first got here, I wanted to run out to the beach and just jump in the ocean, but I realized of all things to forget at home, I forgot my friggin’ flip flops. How in the sam hell can one forget flip flops when going to the beach?! Anyway, so I just removed my socks, went with my tennis shoes, but as soon as I got to the sand, I took off the shoes and went walking barefoot, careful not to step on any sharp shells or the like. I got about, oh 50 yards, when I realized I was starting to breathe heavily. WTF?! It had been so long since I walked in sand. I think I just discovered a new exercise regimen! Strip the entirety of my little postage stamp of a back yard, then raze it flat and go another 4 feet or so lower. Fill it with sand. Watch all the tachyarrythmias induced by my simply walking around my sadistically sandy backyard. Wait for HR to come down from the 200s, convert myself w/paddles if necessary, then whip me out the door. Repeat. After a few months, I’ll be all buff before you can say “tachypnea.”

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Right now I am La Huerta seafood restaurant, having to take off my glasses due to the sweat dripping on the glasses themselves as I type this…I can’t believe people live in this humidity. I look around, and the most I see is sweat/condensation beading on ppl’s foreheads. The locals are complaining, don’t get me wrong, but they don’t seem to be miserable. I’m almost at the point of needing gills to obtain the oxygen I need from this air. I am a city (or at least suburbian) dweller, plain and simple, so if it’s too hot/humid/etc. outside, I go inside where it’s climate controlled. That’s the point of being inside, no? I ordered ceviche as an appetizer. I have never had “dry” ceviche. What arrived was a shredded mix of fish cooked in lime, tomato and onion. No juicy cutlets of fish, no avocado, no yummy, fishy lime juice to slurp up in a cocktail glass when done. For shame.

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For unknown, random reasons, I often think what a wonderful advantage it is to speak Spanish. So many of my classmates don’t want to for whatever odd reason (why come here, then?), but they resist. I can go anywhere, do anything, conduct business, negotiate prices, etc. in a foreign country. That’s cool. I take it for granted by now, but every now and then, I see myself from the 3rd person (it’s the haldol, probably..heh), saying, “Dude, you’re in a foreign country!” Then the Bill and Ted voice goes away, and I resume my normal activities.

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Both the worker at the hotel and my waiter said this kind of heat and humidity is uncharacteristic. Ever since the Hurricane John, things haven’t been right, they said. It’s so bad, I can’t even take decent pictures, it’s so overcast. I feel like a lame tourist, taking what shots I can take from inside my truck or from a covered restaurant deck, etc. It’s not like me–I’m the kind that goes up a hill, puts the camera on a stick–whatever it takes to get that “perfect” shot, but a photographer (I use that term loosely on myself) can’t create a shot that simply isn’t there. Nature 1, Rico 0.

OK, my 2nd margarita arrived. It’s so strong, I think I can light the top of it and leave it to illuminate this gray day. Barring that, I’m sure it’s disinfectant properties are not to be questioned. Nature 1, Rico 1.

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“Huachinango” (wah-chee-NAN-go, red snapper) is one of my favorite Spanish words. I am mentioning this now, because a beautifully filleted specimen, head and spine artfully presented, has just arrived at my table. Huachinango is just one badass-sounding word. Cacahuate (ka-ka-WAH-teh, peanut) is probably my most favorite, though. Most Náuhatl (Aztec) words are insane to pronounce and/or spell. Popocatépetl, for example, is the largest volcano in Mexico, is one I have yet to conquer, but I think that’s a mental block. I shocked myself after-the-fact by saying, without even thinking, farmacodinamicamente (pharmacodynamically) to our pharm prof in a sentence while asking a question after class the other day, and that’s 9 syllables!

Speaking of Aztec names, I routinely torture my mother by saying that my firstborn son will be named Cuauhtémoc (kwow-TEH-mock) since, in spite of her and my entire family’s Mexican heritage, she doesn’t like things too Mexican. Don’t be confused, she’s consistently inconsistent, such as liking chiles that aren’t hot and fish that doesn’t taste fishy. Having a baby named Cuauhtémoc Huitzilopochtli (born in the heart of Mexico, no less) would drive her to drink.

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The water is a place of healing for me. It always has been. I love the water, especially the ocean. I have lived near a major body of water all my life–South Padre Island, Galveston (in spite of the horrible beaches), and the Chesepeake Bay–all were within an hour’s drive for 90+% of my life. Now I have a bit further to go, but it’s still a day trip at least. I don’t need to be on a beach–in fact, I prefer to be on a rock(s), listening to the seagulls, watching the sand life as the tides ebb and flow. The roar of the sea speaks to me in a language I don’t understand but that I feel. Even a lake’s serene, glassy surface has its own hidden power lying underneath. Both the little high-pitched lappings at the lake’s edge and the undulating roar of a massive ocean evoke the primal memories of our fluid-filled beginnings, bringing that maternal comfort that makes one feel that somehow, some way, things will turn out okay.

At the beach

I’m in Manzanillo, Mexico on a mini beach vacation. I’m writing up a storm in my beachfront hotel room because the heat and humidity is not fit for human habiation. It’s wetter in my clothes than in the ocean. I didn’t know that >100% humidity was chemically possible, but I’m proved wrong yet again.

When I get home, I’ll post all the updates, provided I don’t short my laptop from the buckets of condensation pooling off my body as I type…