Med School Is Like Golf

(Or How Thinking About Taking A Dump Gave Me Hope)

After a weekend spent trying to catch up on sleep and determine the best approach to studying, I find myself nearing the middle of week two. So far, the only constant is that the peaks and valleys are still there. One day, I feel like I'm about to get voted off the island. The next, I think that this crazy-assed plan just might work: we just might win this dance contest and save the old folks' home with the prize money.

In a lot of ways, it's like the game of golf. Or, more importantly, it's like the game of golf is for ME. I'm okay at it. During a typical round, I feel like I'm having to work hard just to be a moderately bad golfer. Just when I'm considering throwing in the towel, I hit a nice shot that lands in the fairway. Hell, if I'm lucky, I might make par on a hole. It's just enough, exactly when I need it to make me put the clubs back in the car instead of heaving them into the nearest water hazard.

Same thing with school. After a series of "defeats," something - some little insignificant thing - clicks and you think "I can do this. I'm going to make it. I'm going to be good."

Today's tiny victory came during Histology. After a great day of Physiology (diffusion, active transport, and action potentials), Biochem (protein folding and the health problems associated with incorrect folding), Gross Anatomy (lecture about the structure of the spinal column), we moved into Histology for a lecture on Epithelium and Connective Tissues.

Biologically speaking, one of my favorite cells is the goblet cell. Essentially, it's a single-celled gland, shaped like a wine glass, that secrets mucous in various places in your body, such as your esophagus and other places in your gut. Our professor was showing slides of goblet cells and happened to display one of a goblet cell in the colon. He described how, initially, one would encounter only a few goblet cells in the walls of the colon but as you move through it, you'd encounter an increasing number until, near the end, there are a substantial number. (I am, of course, paraphrasing a bit. A proper scientist might pick this one apart.)

He asked, "Why would you encounter an increasing number?" Then, silence.

"To help you poop more easily," I whisper to classmates around me.

Although nobody, including me, offered an answer, he confirmed what I'd said, albeit in a more eloquently stated manner. And I got to take down the following words in my notes:

Going down through colon: more and more goblet cells.
Needed for lubrication to aid removal of fecal matter from the anus.

All hail the goblet cell.

That was my victory for today. I shall try again tomorrow.

Back at Home (Briefly)

A couple of nights ago, we returned from a very nice visit at my aunt and uncle's place. After my sister flew out on Saturday, we did nothing but eat a ton of really rich food, lounge around, and take in the spectacle that is The Villages.

On Christmas Eve, we tried to get together a proper Bocce Ball tournament. We were a little pressed for time to have a proper tourney but gave it our best shot. Evidently, when you retire, you get damned good at Bocce; nobody could beat my aunt and uncle.

I gave it my best shot but my aunt, in red, was unbeatable.

Dad and I managed to play 27 holes of golf on some executive courses near my aunt and uncle's place. On Christmas day, the golf is free. Pins are in the holes but the clubhouses are closed and the course marshalls are absent. It was a pretty nice gift. When you play earlier than the retirees, you have nobody on the course either before or after you. It was bliss.

My dad, owning the links.

So, we had a nice time, relaxed a great deal, and ate too much. It was, I suppose, your typical holiday with family.

You Know You're In a Retirement Community When...
My aunt and uncle gave us a very thorough golf-cart tour of The Villages. We saw everything from the rec centers where dancing, plays, and concerts occur to the town squares which host free nightly live music, retail and restaurant spaces, and a movie theater. My wife and I decided that we'd take a little time for ourselves and sneak off to a movie. We'd wanted to see "Into the Wild" and it was playing at the local theater. As strongly recommended to us, we presented our Villages Guest ID at the ticket window and received our discount. We grabbed popcorn and rushed into the small, sparsely populated theater. By about 30 years, we were the youngest folks there. At some points during the film, I thought we were in a Miracle Ear commercial with some really loud comments made about what was occurring on screen. The clincher happened after the movie...

As we're making our way out of the theater, we stop and chat with the ticket taker. He was an older gentleman who asked us what we thought of it. So, we spoke for a while about the movie and the book. After wishing him a good night, we made our way into the main lobby. We were right behind a much older couple who were walking in the same direction. Without warning, one of them -- we don't know which -- ripped a sustained, audible fart. Then, in a maneuver that reminded me of the Blue Angels breaking a tight formation, they split for the restrooms.

"Well," I said, "we know we're in a retirement community now, don't we?"