Tuesday, August 08, 2006

holding breaths

Every moment we are alive, we are living. A trite statement of rhetoric, perhaps, but one whose simplicity it took me 24 years to understand. A being of goal oriented thinking, I spent my entire life wondering when I would finally be able to live, as if years of education and training were merely preparation for a future of luxury, of contentment, of "life". Fool. As if the future - which with its counterpart, past, do not exist, as one is merely an idea of events yet to happen, while the other is the scent of events that already were - were something special. As if these delusions of grandeur could really be more incredible than the oxygen that flows through my blood, giving life with each breath; more great than the calm morning wind that caresses the core of my being as I walk tranquil streets. A phantom of things to come, the potential of things that are not, more real or wonderful than the simple majesty of things that are? Impossible. Yet just as difficult to see. Those that hold their breath, waiting for tomorrow, not pausing to inhale the fragrance of roses, will die waiting, as tomorrow never comes. The tragedy of life is not that we must die, but that we wait to live.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Trauma Surgery Rounds at Harbor

I shadowed the trauma team at Harbor UCLA hospital today.

There was a man who was brought in naked, just the way he was when he jumped (or maybe fell) off the third story balcony of his home, blue pills scattered all over the place. He had multiple fractures throughout his body: left humerus, right pubic symphisis, transverse spinous processes. He had slit his wrist somehow before he left his loft, yet despite all this was amazingly still alive. His perineal bleeding led to his scrotum swelling up to the size of his thigh (i kid you not); I wonder if he thought he was more of a man for this. He crashed while waiting for the interventional radiologists, who were the only lazy bastards in the hospital that couldn't be found - 20 minutes of this man's life added to their already inflated paychecks. A thoracotomy was performed, and the trauma surgeon manually pumped John Doe's heart with the accuracy of any good SA node. I watched Doe's left lung inflate and deflate, inflate and deflate, into the open air of the OR. He flatlines. No good. No pulse. Intrathoracic defibrillators. Still nothing. Ok, wait. A heartbeat. Radiologists continued looking for the ruptured vessels to stop the incessant bleeding. Need more blood. The blood bank says they're running out. Tell them to call the Red Cross. More blood. More plasma. They drip the life of others into him as it drips back out as his own onto the OR floor. He flatlines. Time of death, 21:55. 16 units of blood, 12 units of plasma, transferred from life saving bags to the OR floor and his scrotum. Police say he had been drinking heavily while abusing antidepressants for the past week. He didn't want to live anyway. With slit wrists, blue pills, and a third story balcony, what right did we have to try and save him?

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

swept away

A great mind once spoke of taking a road less traveled. The footsteps along a path of consequence, forged in the heat of passion; a passion for living, a passion for believing, a passion for dreams. I too have embarked on such a path, but feel as if I am being swept by the tides and eddies of consequence, into a depth I do not comprehend nor wish to fathom in fear of my own mortality, my own humanity, the smallness of my being that nurtures a flame of purpose, or a search thereof, within the human soul. Though this vessel is small, and powerless against these tides, I shall keep it sailing with pride as the waters of misfortune wash me to the directionless depths of mediocrity.

Monday, March 06, 2006

I am water... flow with me baby.

Water
You are water. You're not really organic; you're

neither acidic nor basic, yet you're an acid

and a base at the same time. You're strong

willed and opinionated, but relaxed and ready

to flow. So while you often seem worthless,

without you, everything would just not work.

People should definitely drink more of you

every day.


Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Hand of God

Howl, lonely wind!
Howl in forlorn melody.

Ubiquitous wind; they call for you.
Your invisible, thankless hand,
With purpose, unanchorable; name ungiven.
Resonance of desperate prayers.

Blow, empty wind.
That lonely hearts may breathe,
lonely breaths,
and fallen leaves may find fallen limbs.

Soothe, loving wind.
Kiss dry the eyes you've stung.
Deal hope, with death you've given.
Promise spring, in autumn's eulogy.

Bastard wind, torment me not!
Let silent cries, be silent still.
May fallen leaves, adorn this path,
of tattered love, and broken will.

Followers

About Me

I'm a quixotic idealist that's readjusting to the reality of the world around him. An aesthetic at heart, willing to not shower a week at a time to go camping, exploring, hiking, etc. I love food, poker, and anything that can be turned into a competition.