If you've followed this blog, you know that my first year of med school was frickin' hard, both academically and personally. I can't believe I survived it, really.
I didn't do well winter quarter. In fact, I failed the very important points location class. As much as I love the medicine, I very much doubted that I had what it takes to complete four years. I was feeling pretty awful about myself.
Now, I'm on break, unpacking my new house and looking forward to, with a little anxiety, starting at Five Branches University next month. I'm 46 years old, but I still get "new girl" anxiety.
In the nick of time, I just discovered that I got honors in A&P, got a B on my TCM final, and my Classics professor just sent me an e-mail about my final papers. He wrote, "...the first paragraph of your reflective paper was sheer genius...You will be a great success in Chinese medicine, but keep writing too."
It means so much to me to have finally succeeded. I feel myself open to the possibility that I might actually make it through the program, pass the boards, and become a practitioner. There were some very dark moments of doubt this past year. These little things, the grades and positive comments from teachers, are beams of light shining into the darkness. I could weep with relief.
Yesterday, I met my friend Linda at the Cantor Art Museum on the Stanford University Campus. I love Rodin and it was nice to get up close and personal to The Gates of Hell. You can't do that at the Musee d'Orsey in Paris. Tsk-tsk, non!
Linda is a biologist, so it was fun to marvel over the exaggerated muscles and impossible poses. I never thought about how much learning anatomy would enhance my love of art.
Before Linda arrived, I watched a group of elderly photographers set up their crane-legged tripods and lens-heavy cameras. A Chinese woman, big black camera slung around her neck, approached me and asked where the toilets were. I pointed into the museum. When she returned she sat next to me and we talked. Her name was Wai and she is 71 years old.
She told me that she had come from China 30 years ago to practice dentistry. She told me of the discrimination that prevented her from opening a practice here. I was shocked. Growing up in the South, seeing up close and personal how badly the white culture could treat African Americans, I believed that it was different in the rest of the country--especially California. As she talked, I again felt that same burning shame about the color of my skin and my fellow white's sick inclination to keep things pure--what ever the hell that means.
She rubbed my arm and said, "You'll do well in Chinese medicine because of this."
I asked her why. She told me that the Chinese love Americans, that I would never experience the same racism there that she had here. She also told me that I would have a wonderful and prosperous practice. Wai said she could tell because of the way I looked at her and listened.
That made me feel warm and fuzzy all over. Then she warned, "If you don't have a husband by the time you go to China, you will be courted there. The Chinese doctors will fall in love with you."
My friend Linda confirmed much of what Wai said about the culture. Linda's parents are from Japan. After Wai left, Linda and I giggled about the prediction of finding a husband. We both have a huge crush on Chow Yun Fat. I wonder how he'd look in a white jacket...
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