Another good week come and gone and we're already a month into
the Fall Tri! This past week was marked in particular by more
travel and some med school firsts: suturing and a Grand Rounds
Wendy, Mallory and Lisa prepare to learn suturing
For years I've watched my dermatologist mother suture her
patients after removal of suspicious moles or biopsy of suspicious
skin conditions. She works so methodically, looping the long end
around the forceps and securing a tight knot in one smooth motion.
After my first attempt at suturing I can tell ya, it's harder than
it looks! However, after another hour of practice following that
first attempt, I'm already feeling better about it, though I still
need more practice. The tricky part is focusing on all the
components; holding the tools properly, spacing your stitches just
right, and pulling them just tight enough, but not too
Lisa performs her first sutures on a plastic arm!
I also gave my first Grand Rounds presentation to a room full of
interns, clinicians and students from lower tris. In 9th Tri
we present for about 30 minutes on a clinical question, whereas in
10th Tri we spend an hour discussing a case and research. As I
mentioned last week, I presented on The Case of the Missing Organ.
My talk focused on the concept of considering a new basis for
health in patients who present for care after having an organ
removed, and on the importance of identifying the cause of dis-ease
if removal of the organ has not solved the problem. This
presentation was inspired by two of my patients, one who has had
the colon removed, and another who has had the gallbladder removed.
I was nervous, but it seems to have been well received and now I
can check that off my to-do-list for the tri!
After an interesting week I took to the skies again for a trip
to Vermont to celebrate the marriage of one of my very oldest
friends. In addition to getting all dolled up with a delightful
group of young women (I also wrote about them in a post from March:
Crunch-Pop and Lovely Intelligent Women), I got to go for a
beautiful, brisk morning stroll with my mom and discuss patient
cases, and danced with my dad to music played by a live band.
Everything about the weekend was beautiful!
A view from the top of The Flume, a little hike in northern
Hanzi and I made a point to stop for a walk in the woods of the
White Mountains on our drive back to Boston, where we caught an
early flight back to Chicago the next day. We also got to watch the
lunar eclipse/blood moon with my parents on their back porch. I
hope you all got to see that celestial masterpiece; what a perfect
symbol of the impressiveness of this world that has conspired to
bring about all the things from the marriage of two wonderful
people this past weekend, to my reaching this stage of naturopathic
Hanzi checks out the White Mountains scenery from a covered
Speaking of a world conspiring to bring about things for us,
please do not hesitate to email me with any of your questions,
thoughts, concerns, or celebrations from your process of applying
to, or considering this Naturopathic journey. I am never too busy
to reply; I love your emails! You can reach me at email@example.com.
Over the weekend, I got to speak with one of my dearest friends
for the first time in two years. She has been living in South Korea
with her husband where they both work as teachers. Sara and I met
when we studied abroad in Australia 8 years ago. In the years since
then, I've been the lucky recipient of many visits from Sara and
her husband wherever I've lived, all over the country. I have
totally reaped the benefits of their summer vacations as teachers.
This time, they are in the U.S. for a few weeks seeing family and I
am so excited to pay them a visit in Michigan next weekend! It's my
turn to make the trip to visit them.
When Sara came to visit in me in Truckee/Tahoe.
One of the most important reasons I moved out west from New
England after college (where I subsequently decided on naturopathic
medicine as a career), was based on my experience of studying
abroad in Australia with Sara. While studying on the other side of
the globe, I met so many Americans who hailed from all the very
different parts of the United States. I realized that I, an East
Coast girl, was so different from those girls from the Midwest, or
those girls from Southern California. We all came from very
different American backgrounds, and yet these Australians, as well
as all the other foreigners we met while out exploring, grouped me
in with all the others. I was just another American girl to
Adventuring in Australia -- getting inspired to explore my own
On account of this, I decided I had better go figure out what
the rest of my country was like before I went travelling abroad
again. While we all had some American patriotism and our language
in common, I felt so different from so many of my countrywomen. I
wanted to know what assumptions people might be making about me
based on some other Americans they'd met who, as far as I could
tell, were nearly as different from me as the Australian girls
were, or the Germans.
Now that I can see the light at the end of the medical school
tunnel, I am starting to think about where to explore next. I think
I have a pretty good handle on what an "American girl" is, based on
my experiences living around the country, so perhaps it's time to
head into foreign lands!
Between binge-watching Anthony Bourdain episodes, perusing
photographs of far away places on BuzzFeed, and reminiscing about
our travels of the past, Hanzi and I have caught the travel bug. We
regularly toss around the idea of living and working in another
country, and have even set some lofty goals of learning a foreign
language before we graduate with our respective master's and
doctorate degrees (we haven't made any headway on this, yet). Even
if we don't make it out of the country, we are ready to explore
another region... perhaps Alaska, or Montana, or Maine...
Of course, I also have to think about actual employment after
graduation, and for the record, I am equally excited to work as a
doctor as I am to see new places. If you're like me and think you
might want to explore, either now or later on, keep these resources
in mind. There are several networks for naturopathic doctors around
the world. Several of my friends at NUHS have traveled to work with
Naturopaths Without Borders during their breaks between
trimesters. My peers have returned with totally awesome stories of
hands-on experience treating patients, living in rural areas,
assisting in the delivery of babies by flashlight, and connecting
with local people whose worlds are so very different from ours.
In addition to delivering care to the underserved abroad,
naturopathic medicine is going global with the recent creation of
Naturopathic Federation in 2014. This organization connects
naturopathic doctors in 40 countries around the world, and
endeavors to connect our work with that of the World Health
Organization. We might be a small population here in the United
States, but we are also out there, all over the world, sharing and
advancing our medicine!
What roles do we play; what shoes do we fill for our patients? I
just spent the weekend holding a wide, firmly calm swath of space
for my mom, her siblings, and my grandparents (their parents) as
everyone prepared for a move from Michigan to Massachusetts.
Family time, my grandmother and her kids, visiting her
father's resting place
My grandparents are in their mid-80s and have lived in Michigan
their whole lives. My grandmother has always lived in Kalamazoo,
and it seems that the entire city knows her. The reasons for their
move are simple and complex all at once. Not only is it easier to
bring food down the road than to have it delivered by a stranger,
but standing in the same room softens the frustration of repeated
instructions or stories.
Visiting the war memorial in Kalamazoo, my great-grandfather,
Arthur D. Bush
This past weekend I was a space-holder, a hugger, a cheerleader,
and a diffuser of tension. It's an exhausting task but I'm proud to
say I think I'm getting rather good at it. It took less than 24
hours for my auntie to tell me she was glad to have me there. I
tempered anxieties, I held my grandmother's hand, I hugged my
grandpa and delivered him snacks. I think I tactfully cut some
sharp remarks short and replaced them with gentler words. I believe
even my kindergarten report card said I was a quiet problem-solver,
the voice of reason, or something more suited to a 5-year-old, but
to that same effect.
With my brave, supportive grandparents who told me, "There's
in procreating unless you improve on what came before... It
Now I'm riding on a swaying train, headed back to Chicago an
hour late, rocketing into the setting sun. The train is full but
I'm alone in my head, a welcome respite after 2 days of definitely
having a presence.
All of my medical school peers play different roles in our NUHS
family. There are the out-spoken ones, the dissatisfied ones that
cry for and produce change. There are the quiet ones that follow
really well and help turn those tides. There are the ethereal ones
who view the world as if through a smoky crystal ball, predicting
the future, intuiting things to my amazement, sometimes struggling
to see the point of the this-here-learn-it-now. There are the
people who wisely listen and nod when you bitch, and there are the
ones who reply quickly, ready with advice.
There are the doctors to whom patients turn for strict rules,
for holding them to their word. There are doctors to whom patients
turn to alleviate their suffering, sometimes only with a pill,
sometimes with an ear, a hug, and an unconditional presence.
There are patients who look to their doctors for their
willingness to be held on a pedestal and consulted as the wise
sage. There are patients who look for the doctor that allows them
to talk, and talk, and talk. Some doctors are best for the realism,
their ability to break bad news in the most frank and comforting
way. There are other doctors who act as cheerleader to the patients
that seek them, and readily share their big hearts.
There are doctors who are sought for their acknowledgement of
all the possibilities, others for their specialty. There are yet
more doctors whose strength is their positivity and their smile.
And there are many doctors who fill many of these roles, perhaps
all of them.
I go to school with all of these types of people and I am
learning what kind of doctor I am becoming. I am learning why
people seek me out, and why they don't. The hardest thing for me to
own is that there is a population of people out there that won't
want me for their doctor because I can't be who they seek, whether
it be due to lack of prescriptive rights, the way I look, my
liberal morals, or that infuriating way I explain their
I am learning about being present for each patient, which means
putting aside all of my "stuff" so that I can arrive and be ready
for that person alone. I don't need to parade my morals ahead of
me; I can just sit and be open, accepting, and ask questions in
order to better understand. Until writing this, I thought I should
just exist and see which patients showed up to receive my care.
Now, I'm realizing there are holes in that theory. As an intern and
soon-to-be baby doc, I should strive to make myself available and
appealing to everyone, and so I should maybe seek out those
patients who might not come knocking of their own volition. Alas,
my sit back and let the world unfold attitude will have to change,
at least a little bit. How will I learn if I don't make an effort
to attract the education?
I spend a lot of time looking at the sky. When I lived in the
West, I realized that a big sky makes me feel that anything is
possible and that I can never understand it all. I adore this
feeling. I desire to be outside of my comfort zone as often as
possible; so much so that at times I've had to give up and retreat
to calmer waters.
I spend a lot of time looking at the sky. Sunrise on my
morning commute last week.
On a long weekend during my first year at NUHS, before the
program had a chance to wear me thin, my partner and I set out on a
camping and fishing trip to Wisconsin's driftless region. We
meandered through farmland and found our camping spot as the clouds
were gathering, no big deal. We'd once tried to camp at Vedauwoo
near Laramie, Wyoming, in late October with a wicked, biting wind
that threatened both to snow and to overturn our tent. When we
realized they'd shut off the water and closed up all facilities for
the season, we gave up.
My partner Hanzi tying flies at our kitchen table over the
weekend, caused this story to surface.
On this particular trip in Wisconsin, we made dinner over our
camp stove as the rain picked up. We ate our rice and beans on the
tailgate to stay dry. As the downpour intensified, we climbed into
our tent earlier than expected and snuggled into the center, trying
not to touch the wet walls.
At 1 a.m., the 5th drop of water landed on my face and I
realized my sleeping bag was totally soaked; our tent was no longer
waterproof and the Midwestern thunderstorm was still raging. Soaked
and sleepy, we sloppily disassembled our tent and crammed all the
sopping wet sleeping stuff into the trunk and slunk out of the
campsite, our tails between our legs.
The fishing the next day was terrible. The streams ran high
with mud. You can see our soaking wet camping gear piled in
We drove a wide-open rural highway with lightning cracking all
around us in the longest, loudest and most spectacular streaks I've
ever seen. This was some thunderstorm! If you've never experienced
one, do come study naturopathic medicine at National. If you've not
chosen our school for the strong philosophy and awesome
collaborative learning environment, then do at least choose it for
After a drive through the downpour and lightning, we checked
into the only room left at the nearest hotel, a suite with a hot
tub in the corner and the fluffiest king size bed ever (save for
that one that enveloped me during that bout of food-poisoning I got
in Banff, Canada after eating scrambled eggs at the airport. Don't
ever eat scrambled eggs at the airport.)
When you're in medical school, you pretty much can't do these
adventurous, uncalculated things. They squash that tendency to toss
logical thinking to the wind (like setting up camp in the midst of
a deluge) in the process of teaching us to be responsible doctors.
I don't mean my professors tell me to stay out of the rain. I mean
that medical school in general takes you away from the fun stuff by
sucking you dry of energy and sitting you down for some serious
business. It's all worth it though, I promise.
I may not be able to adventure, but I guess my education does
cause me to constantly move beyond my comfort zone. Each new class
I take demands that I commit to memory information I've never known
before. When I see a sim patient, I have no idea what to expect and
have to dive in ready to grapple with whatever story they tell me.
This is undoubtedly like the real world of doctoring and so I rest
assured; I totally AM in the right place.... If doctoring is a
process of continually stepping out of your comfort zone while
seeking the patterns that help you find your way to healing a
patient, then I think I'm on to something.
Really though, I already knew I was in the right place before
writing this rambling essay on thunderstorms and airport eggs and
squished adventures. I came to naturopathic medicine because I
thrive on the different stuff. Our medicine is not well known but
it is intelligent. Our medicine is not entirely understood in
reductionist terms, but it works from a place of truth. Camping in
the rain is not a comfortable choice, but it does make for a good
Here I sit, on a plane bound for Chicago after a weekend on the
East Coast, listening to the air from the blower overhead and the
rushing outside the window as we taxi. The deicers blast the window
inches from my face with a heavy spattering sound. The engines roar
a little louder and I think of the rattle my cousin's smiling,
blonde 1-year-old used to fill my ears this morning.
At this past week's Nu Delta Sigma meeting, Nadene introduced us
to sound healing as presented in the book, "Tuning the Human
Biofield," by Eileen McKusick. I was the lucky recipient of a sound
experiment from my friend John, a brilliant healer and
doctor-in-the-making. You might call us crazy, but when was the
last time you checked in with the sounds in your life? It had been
a while for me.
The sim patient I saw this week in my Advanced Clinical Problem
Solving class complained of tinnitus, a rushing sound in his ears,
and was nearly deaf. This was the only abnormal finding on physical
exam as we searched for clues to the cause of his dizzy, vomiting
spells. When I made kale for dinner on Wednesday night, the leaves
squeaked when I stripped them off their stalks. The sound reminded
me of lemons and a crisp, cold, clear evening with a sky full of
stars, when the frozen snow sings underfoot.
So excited to be out skiing in celebration of one of my very
(She taught me to suck my thumb when I was 2.)
When I rode the chairlift at Cranmore Mountain in New Hampshire
with my childhood friends over the weekend, the chairs clunked as
only chairlift chairs do each time you reach a tower. I reveled in
the swish of skis and the crunch-pop of poles into snow, the whoosh
and shudder of skiers of various skill levels as they rocket
downhill beside you. There were also those split seconds of silence
when I caught a little air and my skis left the snow, allowing me
to hear only the wind in my ears.
Beautiful bluebird day in the White Mountains! There are my
friends, waving at me from the lift.
On Sunday morning, I listened to the coffee maker grumble and
splurt that divine bitter stuff into the pot. The bottle of
champagne made an adorable pop! And we toasted our friend, a
bride-to-be. We thanked her for bringing together such an
intelligent, fun, active and clever group of young women. Our
glasses clinked! I am back at school now, refreshed and
All the lovely, intelligent women in our PJs, toasting our
So now I sit here typing, my fingers trickling across the keys
making that distinct blipping sound with each letter. I spend so
much time using my eyes and my hands to observe and palpate in
medicine, but I haven't engaged nearly enough with my ears. The
more blood pressures I take and the more lungs I auscultate, the
more familiar those healthy sounds become. I listen to the normal
sounds in hopes that I'll recognize when they are different, when
the lungs pop or crackle or gurgle and tell me something about the
environment inside my patient.
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