Problem: Timequake!

12 days to final exams...




Problem solved.

Phuc Mai Laif

not really, just too good of a title to pass up. I'm sitting on a tv stand in the NoBai Int'l airport having converted my last few dong into cold beer, stealing electricity to power my beaten-all-to-hell laptop. Just like last year I can't help but imagine the 1975 helicopter evac of the Saigon American embassy:



http://stolenapples1.blogspot.com/2009/10/hunter-s-thompson-interdicted-dispatch.html

and lastly



this is nothing like that of course. But I'm leaving, just the same. On a jet plane. Listening to great music, reading about face transplants, so in actuality: I love my life.

Good Evening, Vietnam.

I have measured out my life in tiny cups of coffee with a bit of sweetened condensed milk

"Now the trip is winding down, and I've foregone the 3 hours bus ride to another provincial hospital. That means I have the next 6 hours or so to gear down and force-feed myself the past 2 weeks of medical school. That isn't as bad as it may sound. After seeing patients and parents, and standing next to the surgeons and nurses that have helped them, I feel like pouncing on this thing with vigor again. Just 2 more months and I'm free of the formal classroom for what will hopefully be the rest of my life. Not that work is pure freedom to learn. But I think that I've come full circle enough that work can be a kind of kindergarden; you have to stay in the building, and you have to get your tasks done so you get a gold star, but in the in between everything is new and colorful and exciting and the in-between is where you really learn most.

below is the classic "all i ever needed to know..." which is called "trite ad saccharine" which I can agree with in a certain light but with the right kind of eyes, there is far more authenticity in this than any medical school Mission Statement.

Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be, I learned in Kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandbox at nursery school.

These are the things I learned: Share everything. Play fair. Don't hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don't take things that aren't yours. Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody. Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life. Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work some every day.

Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup. The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.

Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup - they all die. So do we.

And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK"

Ears Lowered

Apparently the humid jungle air here makes my already shaggy mass of hair growth double-quick. I'm contemplating getting a haircut from a barber on the street, in a simple wooden chair with a cracked mirror hung on the low wall along the sidewalk. But all I can think of is this scene from Full Metal Jacket and I'm afraid I'll have the song stuck in my head for the rest of the trip....

bacon in soup form = best brunch ever

great morning, I sat on a little plastic stool by the street with a book seller friend named Quan and his wife, drinking green tea while watching the traffic slink by.

why I love the Onion

http://www.theonion.com/content/opinion/i_didnt_spend_6_weeks_in_a

corollary to below

I remember reading this somewhere, once upon a time. Some guy in Cedar Rapids, IA probably created this and attributed to a sage. But the point is interesting nonetheless.

"There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit.

"Such bad luck," they said sympathetically.

"We'll see," the farmer replied.

The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses.

"How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.

"We'll see," replied the old man.

The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.

"We'll see," answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.

"We'll see..."

Up, in Hanoi

today like every other day here, leaves me exhausted. This was the final clinical day of the trip, where 20 some odd towering Caucasian strangers turn the surgical ward of the National Pediatrics Hospital into a glorified petting zoo. But as with everything else on this trip, this country, and apparently this world, the darkness is punctuated - but never fully- by tiny filaments of light. Today I saw 20 kids given an opportunity for a better life, maybe. I could look at each child and feel my heart cracking like giant warm egg, but then I'd imagine all the shadows behind their being there and seeing us, the thousands of kids with the same or worse deformities and circumstances, doomed by luck, by birth, by geography, wealth, and maybe fate. For every ear reconstruction done how many remain undone? How many other procedures precluded by the use of finite funds, time, training, will, and political maneuvering? How many of those kids were there because of their parents' connections, positions, or dollars? And why wouldn't I do the same thing given their circumstances?

anyway, the reason for the title of the post is that I'd like to tell a parable by way of a brief reference to the wonderful Pixar movie Up!. Today, as the kids were lined up to see us for the last time, I walked out of the clinic, through the hospital doors, out the gate, and into the little road-side shop selling knickknacks, snacks, and some commonly needed medical supplies. I spent about 10 dollars buying 20 huge balloons: animals, knock-off disney character likenesses, and some of the other unidentifiable blobs of bobbing color that kids enjoy purely up until the age of 9. I carried, and was almost carried by, the balloon animal heard into the wards and gave every kid a choice of balloon. I felt and looked like the house in Up!.

I gave the children balloons knowing that for 5 minutes or so they would enjoy them fully, until losing, popping, trading, losing interest in, or in any number of ways ending them and the moment. I also thought about the staff and parents having to contend with flying unicorns in their way during rounds, being sucked into the ceiling fans, stolen, fought for, cried about. And lastly I thought about myself. Was I buying them for the kids? For the photo op? Maybe for the canned emotional cue of a laughing child to make my and my team's presence a bit more justified with having to agonize over the consequences for even just a few seconds or minutes. Was it worth it, or right, or good? Did it matter? I honestly don't know. But for a moment or three, I tried to forget about myself. Whether the joyful consequences of that abdication outweigh the probable imposition on others, is a question that I'm desperately trying to answer.

So Sorry!

This trip is, has been, and will continue to be, significant beyond words. If there is an English term for whatever the intersection of the meaning of the words inspiring, disenchanting, awakening, enlivening, depressing, joyous, and adventure-boredom is, then that definition should mention the dates of march 3-18 2010. I have learned so much and yet so little about so many and few things, somehow all at the same time. I realize that these statements don't convey anything of what's going on here, but that is more or less the point, which is that neither do I (or anyone that I've yet met for that matter), but somehow I now know more than I did before coming, capisce? There are so many contradictions in this country, and yet, appropriately, they somehow make more sense, and feel less alien to me, than many of absurdities of American life. I've experienced corruption and benevolence, pride and humility, smarmy double-dealing vs. true raw integrity, insight, insipidity, fresh beer, 100 year old eggs, surgery, service, and some really damned good soup. It is such a privilege to be here, such a privilege to be myself here, such an honor to be able, maybe, to one day be here and do some good. And if not that, then at least learn something. I have many adventures and photos, and souvenirs to share. Describing the food alone would take 10 pages. As the Operative aspect of the trip winds down I should hopefully have more time to keep this thing current. I know I've promised that in the past and here I am promising again. But, as they say in the dirty Jerz, hey, whaddaya gonna do?

"my hovercraft is full of Eels"

actually that's the heading for my post on my time in Incheon Korea, which I'll post tonight. But for now, really quickly, here is a picture of exactly where I am as I write this and drink coffee, that is, on a windy roof by the lake in Hanoi. In half an hour we leave for the National Hospital of Pediatrics to hold a clinic for the potential pedi patients for this week. The it's over the Trauma hospital to do the same for the adults. Later the plan is to work out at the Vietnamese gym, get fitted for a "sweet" (suite)" [suit], and maybe buy a monkey at the market.

the past 36 hours by the numbers

268-miles Hanover to JFK Airport
24-buffalo wings and
2-beers waiting to board the
14- hour flight to Korea
10-hours of sweet straight sleep to Seoul
1111- number of Korean Won per US dollar
14-hours to spend in and around the Incheon airport
5-dollars for a breakfast of coffee, water, seaweed and alfalfa sprout broth soup, with oysters, tofu, kimchi, eggs over easy, rice, all while seated on pillows on a heated wooden floor
1- things that tasted like a tobacco leaf that were served with said breakfast
100%- ratio of tobacco-flavored things that went from my mouth to my napkin to be discretely thrown away outside the restaurant...
1- hour that Eddie and I spent riding a bus into the nowhere suburbs of Incheon trying to find the coast, unsuccessfully
20- $'s it cost for unlimited food, drink, air conditioning, internet, cappuccinos and showers in the VIP lounge for the
5-hours before boarding my flight to Hanoi

oh, and this isn't numeric, but there is a brand of sports drink or "ion supply drink" here from Japan called "Pocari Sweat!" that tastes like warm powdered gatorade and is the color of, well, sweat...

Fell asleep in Queens, awoke in South Korea

Eddie and I are the in gargantuan Incheon Intergalactic airport, having landed just a few minutes ago. Between our gate and the free internet lounge, we were too-politely smiled at and bowed to about 47 times, xrayed for shivs and stolen steak knives from the plane, and infrared-scanned for swineflu (negative). Since we have only about 14 hours until our flight to Hanoi, we may decide to hop onto one of these tsunami-tours from the airport to a buddhist temple, over a gigantic bridge and back for only $10 US.

In other news, excepting the funk of 10,000 miles and 14 hours of air travel on disquietingly absorbent cloth seat, I feel pretty good. After take off but before the first lap of the beverage cart , I was unconcious for a dreamless 10 hours until I woke up to about 4 korean octogenarians coughing TB in my face, apparently because the exit row window in front of me afforeded a much better view of the absolutely featureless black sky than the identically sized and oriented window 4 rows behind at their own seats.

It's about 6am Korean time, making it 4 in the afternoon on the east coast. I will try to post again before midnight (US time) tonight. as they say in Korea, ciao for now.