The Addiction

I had that moment that alcoholics, drug addicts or gamblers must experience when self-realization hits them like a bullet train. When they wake up in unfamiliar surroundings, without a penny left to their name, utterly alone in the world. That moment hit me today when I stumbled out of the Starbucks with a bag and a half of Guatemala's best, a cup o' joe AND a soy latte, all for Moi.
In years past, I was proud of the fact that I never drank coffee all through college and med school, and even most of residency, in fact, I hated it, except for the smell. But then in pregnancy, I found I could not survive without the stimulant boost of caffeine holding my eyelids open. It started as an innocent single soy latte once in a while, then once every morning. I could take it or leave it, I told myself. Bob would tease me about being addicted to coffee and I would just laugh him off. Then this weekend, in the rush of getting the kids out the door for ZooBoo -- trick-or-treating at our local Zoo -- I had little time to feed the dependence. The result was a nagging headache all day long that I had to chase with mega doses of ibuprofen.
So today, my subconscious directed me to the closest Starbucks, afraid that I would forget what my body clearly needed. I walked in for my usual tall latte. Then, lured by the politically-correct displays of third-world fair trade certified coffee farms, I grabbed a pound of whole beans "for the cause". Up at the counter, after ordering my latte, the barista offered a free cup of coffee and an extra packet of whole beans as part of a special promotion, "This is your lucky day!" How could I pass that up? So that's how I ended up juggling two cups of coffee, chasing sips of pumpkin spice latte with sips of bold Cafe Estima, with two bags of whole beans tucked under my arms.
I would say that I have a problem. That's Step 1, right?

444

I had the unusual occasion to give a talk in the hospital emergency department this morning before 7 am. It was so out of my schedule that I nervously laid awake in bed at 4:44 am. Being Chinese, I wasn't sure that was a very good omen since that is the number for death (in Cantonese, the number 4 sounds like the word for being dead, so three "deaths" in a row is usually not a good sign). On a tangent, I remember in high school that my best friend's boyfriend's mother had a license plate with a string of 4's in it because she had specifically requested that she be issued a license number that was easy to remember. Good thing she wasn't Chinese.

It was still as black as night when I left the house, and the roads were shiny wet in the drizzle. When I made my way to the ED through the hospital, I passed the frosted windows of the chapel on the main floor and caught a glimpse of a few staff members in scrubs with their heads bowed in morning prayer. Above me a surgical resident crossed the catwalk to the O.R. without making a sound in his sneakers. The wide expanse of the main corridor I walked was empty and white. It was all very peaceful, a moment in time that I don't often see, absolute serenity in this place usually bustling with activity and work. It was a very nice way to start the day.

Losing Grip

Blessed Monday! A return to peace and control at work. I very nearly lost it yesterday evening, despite a relatively happy weekend, maybe because it was just too packed-full of good times for everyone. I had simply reached my limit. And like a child who has missed a critical nap, I just snapped. I was thoroughly engrossed in watching Akeelah and the Bee on DVD as 7 o'clock came around; the kids (and probably myself included) were hypoglycemic and I was in no mood to warm-up dinner, let alone face the usual struggle of hand-feeding the little guys. Worse even, the movie was approaching the climatic National Bee and I was about to miss the whole thing to prepare dinner. So finally, while trying to watch the finals out of the corner of my eye from the kitchen, and while trying to feed Benji something he wasn't too hot about, which caused him great distress to the point of tears, I just started cursing like my dad in a traffic jam. Bob and I really hold our tongues with bad language in general, so part of me felt very guilty for letting it out right there in front of the kids.

I have come to realize that as much as I have been thankful to my parents for encouraging me to have a professional career and supporting me through training, I am also somewhat resentful that I was never prepared for this life of "hardship" as a working mother of three. In some ways, my childhood was too easy. I only had to worry about being a student. I never had to work and study, I barely even had any chores that I can remember. I never had to cook or babysit. And all of a sudden, I am expected to do it all. It's just not fair.

My mom, on the other hand, had to single-handedly raise her younger brothers and sister, feed the animals, cook the meals, and keep the house, while upholding her number one status in the class -- all at the tender age of eleven. Clearly, her early struggles made raising her own family in the U.S. a piece of cake. But my coddled upbringing has left me ill-equipped to handle the same pressures. I have been reduced to this whiny ingrate who crumbles at the slightest show of willfulness from her 3 year old.

I-Ting Do

I really must be losing it. I caught myself today talking to a hospital robot like it was a sentient being. I had inadvertently bumped into the boxy self-propelled R2D2-like pharmacy robot when pushing through a hallway door, "Oh! Excuse me, Clara!"

Her name is emblazoned on the front of her "face" right above her cyclopian "eye" which functions to detect any hindrance, human or not, in her path. Should she come upon an obstacle in her way, she stops and patiently beeps until it gets the message and gets lost. If, say, the gurney in front of her doesn't pay heed, Clara will pause a bit (one could imagine her heaving a silent sigh of exasperation) before navigating herself around the uncooperative bed.

Clara really is cute in her own pre-programmed way, gently rolling down hallways, deftly taking corner turns to exactly where she needs to go. She's just cute enough to make you want to engage her in friendly conversation, like a lunatic.

Be careful out there

On Sunday I woke up at 5:00 am to drive up to NYC (Queens) to attend a special martial arts seminar to benefit someone who had been critically injured in a motorcycle accident. She had spent three months in the hospital with a fractured pelvis and cerebral injuries. She's making a remarkable recovery fortunately, but a slight misalignment of her eyes, some broken teeth, and a cautious gait were a reminder of how serious her injuries had been.

On my way up, while driving on the New Jersey Turnpike through a heavy rain early in the morning, I watched as the car in front of me made a sharp turn to the right, then skidded out of control, spun off the road, knocked over a streetlight and disappeared over an embankment. I called 911 but there was no way I could turn around to check on the driver.

On my way back from the seminar, I saw a thick plume of dark smoke off to the left side of I-95. A Greyhound bus was engulfed in flame. The fire must have just occured because traffic was still speeding by the bus, and it looked like the police and fire fighters had hardly arrived. As I drove by in the other direction, I snapped the picture above out my driver's side window. I could feel the heat on my face even though I was five lanes away.

The whole day seemed surreal and frightening, so it was a real relief to arrive home safely that night. Thinking about the randomness of the three accidents has made me realize how lucky Tricia, the boys and I are to be alive and healthy and safe.

Monkey Business

Bob noticed for the first time a stuffed monkey hanging from a kitchen chair the other night --
"Is it a toy?" he asked me innocently.
Hearing him wrong, I looked at him in disbelief, "Bob, that's the monkey's TAIL!"
He started cracking-up: "I didn't ask 'Is it a boy?', I asked, 'Is it a toy?!'"

Goodwill Games

Connor's ears perked up upon hearing mention of Hurricane Katrina on the radio. He has had a fascination with natural disasters and accidents in general. So he pressed me for more info, "What did they say about Hurricane Katrina, Mom?"

I explained that the people of New Orleans were thrilled to have recently won a football game against Atlanta, in the SuperDome of their once devastated city, having lost everything to the hurricane a year ago.

"But, how did they play football if they lost everything in the hurricane?"
"Um," I fumbled, "the other team must have brought the ball with them."
"Oh," he exclaimed enthusiastically, "that was SO nice of them to share!"