On Getting Recruited

my favorite farmer's market in california is in mountain view.  it's big and busy and has pretty much everything i could want--a cheese vendor, a british veggies vendor, a japanese florist vendor, acme breads is there and one that does cheaper brussel sprouts than the others.  the one thing i absolutely can't stand about the mvfm is the clown that hangs out opposite the japanese florist.  i hate clowns.  i'm sure my reasons are the same as everyone else's--they've got the fake faces and they're eerily big eyed and i think i've had at least one bad nightmare that involved clowns with makeup gone wrong. 

this week i started a new rotation, this time in pediatrics.  those who know me (and maybe you don't even need to know me that well) know that i hate children.  they're whiny and needy and generally are bratty and snot-nosed and self-absorbed.  most people can look past this--i can't handle it.  i was assigned a kid who had lots of problems, but in general had the worst pouty face in the world.  it's nearly impossible to frown so that it looks like an upside-down smiley face, but this kid had it down.  always mad, always frowning, always grumpy, always crying.  granted, he had a lot of shit going on, but i couldn't handle it.  i couldn't dredge up even an inkling of pity in my hardened heart.  

i was on my hands and knees trying to get my patient to sit still and stop crying so that i could listen to his heart when the Clowns approached.  oddly enough, they didn't bother me too much. i think it was because the creepyclownmakeup was kept to a minimal.  plus they blew really cool bubbles.  my partner for the day noticed that one of the clowns had a ukulele and talked him into forcing me to play it.  

i love playing the marvin the purple ukulele.  i love its unique sound and that all of the songs that you play on it sound cute and endearing.  but i can't handle performing in front of people.  my clinical group got me to play a couple of songs for them and even that--performing in front of good friends--made my legs all wobbly.  

anyways so i managed to play a few songs (his ukulele played like a dream!) and unintentionally drew an audience, enough to make me get skittish again.  but apparently it didn't show because afterwards, the Clowns approached and handed me a card with a name on it and said that i should consider joining their group.  

when i was telling a friend about this, she told me that clowns make six figure salaries.  is that true?  if so, screw nursing.  i'll take playing the ukulele and blowing bubbles for a living any day. 

On Selling My Body to Science

well, recently i've discovered a new, quick and [relatively, sometimes] painless way to make money: participating in research.  i can't believe i was so slow to sign up--i'm a fan of research, i get to be a part of it and basically i get paid to answer surveys about my family history and feelings.  

last rotation there were tons of research fliers in the psych hospital and my clinical group and i would huddle around the bulletin board like clockwork on our way to rounds, just to see if there were any new ones.  a lot of them didn't apply--for instance as much as i want to be, i'm not a teenager with an eating disorder.  nor do i have a 20 year history of bipolar disorder.  and dammit--how come i wasn't born with type I diabetes?!  seriously, there are boatloads of money to be made by diabetics.

where i don't have a lot of the diseases that plague our great country (at least not yet, anyway), i can always stand in as a control.  i'm a fairly healthy young woman (if you discount my biglurve for cupcakes) and it turns out that there are quite a few studies asking for controls. 

the best one i've found--and by best i mean pays the most money--is this MRI imaging test where there were very specific requirements (asian american 22-28, on no medication and non smoking) but were offering to pay $500 in compensation.  i'm still waiting to hear back from them but God help me, when they call me back i'll be all over that. 

the only study i've managed to follow through on is called the PUMA study, which studies how being an angry person can increase your chances of getting a heart attack.  seriously.  a few weeks ago i had to sit in a room and fill out surveys about whether or not i thought i was more deserving of other people and if all people were assholes.  and at the end of the 1 hour, i got $10.  

this morning i went in for a follow up where i had to sit in a room for 4 hours while they stuck an IV catheter in my arm and tried to take some blood three or four times.  i say try because although the catheter was working and they could push fluid in (an extremely odd sensation), they couldn't pull anything out.  they tried in the arm (TWO needle sticks!) to no avail--nothing was coming out.  

i think my body has some kind of visceral somataform memory where when i get stuck with needles or the nurse tweaks the needle in my arm (especially in my right arm) it's like my unconscious remembers the last time that happened (i fainted--let this be a note to you all: eat lunch before you give blood) and i get really dizzy and lightheaded.  that's why when they offered to try a different kind of needle that would require three more needle sticks i declined (politely) and offered to reschedule. 

all in all it wasn't bad though.  for two little needle sticks, i got $20, hopefully in addition to the $50 i was supposed to get had my veins not been so lame, and they've rescheduled me with the head PI who apparently is Japanese (!!!!!).  anything to be close to my favorite people. 

i know what you must be thinking, and i have questioned this too:  how can a future nurse be so squeamish about needles?  will i survive?  the answer is that i have absolutely no problem putting them in other people, it's just when i see the bevel side up going into my skin i lose it and need to look away.  the phlebotomist (sp?) today showed me a new trick: when i'm feeling woozy, rip open to alcohol swipes and sniff.  it does wonders. 

On Chinese New Year

This past weekend, I went to Boston for the tail-end of CNY, because the new year is about family, food, and for some (ahem, certainly not me) it's also about money.  Mostly I went because I haven't seen my Popo (grandma) in 5 months, which is okay when I lived in California, but fairly unacceptable when I live a 4 hour, $15 bus ride away.  Mostly I was subconsciously avoiding her since the last time I saw her I could barely understand anything she was saying. (Although to be fair, it must be acknowledged that most of that time was spent cuddling with babyturdie and hiding behind my sister's skirts, waiting for her to translate for me.) 

It's always been like this.  I have a complex about speaking Chinese.  Actually, I have a complex about speaking any language, period.  Basically I get scared that the person will be offended or laugh at me or... whatever.  I remember my complete inability to carry on a simple conversation with a run of the mill Japanese businessman during an exam in Japanese 100B, but once immersed in the culture and the language for two years, speaking was not a problem.  That's the key--immersion. 

So off to Popo's I went, quite certain of ridicule on all sides, especially from her.  But aside from a few half-hearted jibes, it wasn't that bad.  I had forced myself into immersion (i.e. living with Popo for a weekend) and we were fine. Although I think the amount of understanding between my grandma may have been aided/hurt by the following factors:

1) Popo punctuates what she says with hand motions and general pointing.  And she repeats everything twice in order for me to get it. 

2) She's getting harder of hearing.  I had to repeat myself twice. And plus that just confuzzled me as to whether or not she didn't get what I was saying, or if she just didn't hear mt. 

3) When I'm in a high pressure situation and someone says something to me in a foreign language that I don't get, I'll just smile and nod. That probably didn't help with the communication.

4) Most of our conversation (I'd say about 60%) was about food, eating, how much I eat, how often I cook, if I cook for friends--you get the idea.

The funniest (and grossest) thing about the weekend--not coincidentally related to food--is my discovery that the answer in my family to "I'm full" will always, unwaveringly be "Then eat more."  I think I ate about half my weight that weekend and that is no easy feat. 

Mostly though, it was great hanging out with Popo.  I think I forget that she too is a person before she is a grandma, and she is so happy when I say good morning and want to learn things from her.  It was worth coming to Boston, if not to make her happy, then at least to make me happy to realize that I'm taller than someone--the top of Popo's head barely grazes my chin and I made a killing in red pocket money.