The Gruesome Bet

It was great working in a children's hospital on Halloween. There were random people dressed up as clowns and Raggedy Ann handing out candy to the staff, as well as some residents who contributed to the Halloween spirit by dressing up (Mat was a punk rock Margi Gras.... he looked great and apparently didn't scare any of the kids over at Egleston despite his heavy makeup and skull necklace). I really wanted to dress up today, but didn't get my act together in time. In my frantic searh for something this morning in my closet, I uncovered a pair of fake, gliterry eyelashes that just wouldn't stay on my eyelids. They would have been perfect!

My chance to get into the spirit came during my afternoon clinic. It started off when I offered to trade patients with Akemie since her first was Spanish speaking and mine wasn't. I looked at the chart - it was a 5 day old newborn.

I walked into the room and a bundle resting in a Hispanic woman's arms. After getting the history, I picked up the baby from the mother and brought her to the examination table. She looked up at me with these beautiful icteric eyes and golden yellow face. What a great looking jaundiced Halloween baby, I thought. She looked like a jack-o-latern, peering at me with lit up eyes.

After examining the baby, I went to sign out to the great Dr. Berkowitz. I love Dr. Berkowitz. He's initially on the intimidating side with his thick South African accent and ridiculous fund of knowledge, but I love the fact that he's super cultured. He's one of those types that will look up someone's hometown on the world map just to know more about a certain culture or geographical location. I explained to Dr. B that I thought the baby was jaundiced, but not excessively so. We needed to check the baby's bilirubin level.

Now, I feel like I've been able to get along with Dr. B, despite when he yells at me for not checking a kid's retina or for not hearing the S2 split properly. But I didn't expect for him to examine this baby, come out of the room, and say, "You want to place a bet on what this kid's bilirubin level is?"

This was my chance to go one up on Dr. Berkowitz.

"Of course, I do!"

"What shall we bet on?"

Ooooh the possibilities. Money. Candy. Baby needs a new pair of shoes.

"How about a soda?" he says. I can deal with that. It'll a soda that I wouldn't have had otherwise.

"Ummm..."

"Oh, you don't want to place a bet, Dr. Rao?"

"I'll bet you a soda that this kid's bilirubin level is 10," I say with a big smile of my face.

"Ten, you say?" Yikes. Maybe I should go a little lower.

"Ok, 9 is my final answer."

"Alright, nine. I'm going to say his bilirubin is 7."

The bilirubin came back 9.9. Tne minutes later, Dr. Berkowitz hands me a Vault. I'd never had one of these before, but it's a damn good lime soda :) A pretty good Halloween trick or treat, if I do say so myself! Thanks to my gruesome little bili baby bet.

The Long Braid

It's Diwali and I'm in the temple room of the Hindu Temple of Atlanta, where families have come together to celebrate the Indian New Year. I'm alone, but strangely enough, I don't feel alone. I can feel India's presence in this one holy place, where the aroma of cocunuts and kumkum powder make me feel at home. I see little girls skipping around their mothers' brightly colored silk saris, the edge of the sari skirting upwards as if accepting an invitation to dance.

At the front of the temple room is where Lord Balaji resides, and today He's covered in freshly garlanded carnations - pink, white and red. The priest approaches the devotees, wanting to know who would like an offering to be made on their behalf. I see one couple step forward. She is striking, with her hair done in a long black braid that reaches far below her knees to her calves. An orange rubber band adorns the end of the braid, perfectly matching the tone of her sari, and the end of the braid ends in a perfect cone shape. As she moves, the braid curves in the opposite direction as if painting a canvas.

Seeing the braid makes me recall a memory from my childhood. I am in the 6th grade, in Mrs. Brown's English class. My hair back then is long, reaching to the small of my back, and my mom has done my hair in a long braid. As the bell rings and I, along with the other students, file out of the classroom, I hear Mrs. Brown's voice along with someone touching my hair. "Wow, Devika, your braid is so thick." She moves her hand along the notches of my braid.

This disturbs me at the time, and I now realize why. I was the only Indian girl in the class, and my hair was notably thicker than everyone else's. Mrs. Brown had picked me out of all the children in the class because I was different, and in middle school, it defintiely wasn't cool to be different.

"No, it's not," I said as I turned away, my hair escaping the clutches of Mrs. Brown's hands. I hastened towards the door, eager to reach my next class. In the hallway, I tore my rubber band away from tip of my braid and ran my fingers through my scalp allowing my black hair to shower down on my shoulders and upper arms.

Seeing this beautiful Indian woman's braid gliding across her back, the blackness of the knots making the yellow silk appear more festive made me wonder why I was ever embarrased about my long hair and how I wore it. Subconsiously, my hands wandered to the back of my scalp, and then to the edges of my ponytail. My hair now rested only a few inches below my shoulders, and I made a promise to grow my hair out like hers, a promise that I knew I wouldn't really keep due to the busy nature of my work. But I was grateful for the opportunity to be in an enviroment that brought me a little piece of India, where I was able to appreciate the beauty of something for which I once had disdain.

The Span of Life

I went to my third yoga class today in Atlanta. I have forgotten how much I love to do yoga. With every class, I move and stretch every single muscle in my body, and I get to slowwww down my breathing. In Ayurveda, breathing is known as prana, or the life force. Basically the less we breathe, the more we prolong our life span. I definitely slow down my respiratory rate during class, so I guess I'm adding more "life onto my span."

So some people who know me well, know that I cannot bend forward with straight knees and touch my toes. Even during high school, when I ran track and spent a ridiculous amount of time before workouts stretching, I could NOT touch my toes. I blame it on my long legs. My legs are so long that I have to freakin sit on a pillow to drive, a fact that is often received with much snickering, even from those near and dear to me (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!).

Well, I'm pleased to say, that I am getting quite close to touching my toes!! This after only 3 classes. You have no IDEA how much this means to me. Some people have lofty goals in life. These may include to become the best physician ever, or to be the fastest runner, or to be a good parent or a good spouse. One of my goals, and I kid you not, has been to to be able to touch my toes. Who knew that I would get closer to this goal in residency of all the times in my life??? I'm more limber than I've ever been before!!!

Yoga has also helped me become more meditative. I saw this quote on a bumpersticker today and I felt a connection with it. I think that words appearing on a bumpersticker can cheapen the idea or thought behind the words, but this one definitely caught my attention:

"We are not human beings with spiritual experiences, but we are spiritual beings with human experiences."

Dr. Aarons, one of my favorite college professors of all time, taught me to never quote a phrase without proceeding to explain it in your own words, but I think I'd rather just leave this one without any commentary. Hope everyone reading this entry is well!