on taking "time off"

Free time is a strange thing.

When I arranged the time interval graduation and beginning my postdoc, I was advised by several reputable and wide-ranging sources to take 2-3 months off if at all possible. It was, so I did.

I approached this time with dread, fearing that in three months away from the bench I would lose pipetting and critical thinking skills alike. That I would swiftly facilitate moving to New Job City and spend two months traveling but mostly bored out of my mind. That is not even remotely what happened.

It took two beastly months to move to New Job City, during which I also became H.K.'s interim administrative assistant as he generously moved his expanding Company to said city. When the dust began to settle, I worked furiously for weeks to transfer medical referrals and authorizations so that I would not miss my next treatment. A nightmare, which culminated yesterday in the most sketch and traumatizing infusion I have ever experienced [in 7 years, y'all].

The "to-read" tower beside my bed has been marginally reduced. Our new domicile now feels like a Home. I have taken up and played a substantial amount of Hearthstone. I've indulged in some delicious wine. Last week, our typical world travel logistics reversed as I followed H.K. to Europe for one of his conventions.

It's been time well-spent, and now that I have one week left before New Job begins, I am feeling a bit of panic. Because contrary to my early anticipation, I am not sure that I'm ready for it to be over. I'm mildly afraid to return to the bench, because although these last three months have been productive, I wanted to do so much more. And concern lingers that I may have forgotten how to pipet or design experiments.

Then, of course, there is the existential deliberation over whether the ability to refrain from reading literature for three months -- excepting the occasional abstract (which shocks me to my core, btw) -- means that I am not a serious scientist.

--

Through all of this, the Crohn's baby has been restless. Unleashing a roller coaster tantrum the likes of which I have not experienced in years. Although I have semi-successfully transitioned to a New Job City Gastroenterologist, and been "controlling" symptoms with diet, over-the-counter and donation-accepting remedies... let's just say I spent plenty of Euros visiting Europe's public toiletten/s.

this is who i am

This week, I have been attending my first international conference, specialized to my brain region(s) of interest.  It has been absolutely phenomenal.  The resort where it's being held is the nicest place I have ever stayed, the food is spectacular, I am making new acquaintances slowly but surely, and the content... is pretty much like losing ones virginity: it hurts [my brain] sooo much, but I can't get enough of it and I want to stay in this world forever.

It reminds me that I have been wrenched apart from this [insert brain region(s)] world by entering into a graduate program where the only expert around is yours truly.  I love my program, the people in it and the experiences that I'm having, but I miss this other world like nobody's business.  And I want back in.

I want back in so badly that I am already perusing for potential post graduate positions.  One of the several amazing things about this conference is that it is small (~300 p), and there are many big players here.  I sought out one of these fellows and engaged in an either triumphant (he remembers my name) or catastrophic (he remembers my name and blacklists me) conversation wherein I suggested that he made an unfair claim in a paper, and he ended up seceding that I was correct.  That was my shining moment at this conference. [UPDATE:  I met said giant of neuroscience at a workshop several months later in Italy, and not only did he remember me, but we had a very pleasant conversation.  I love science.]

I had hoped that the poster session would go so well, but alas, I was the only therapeutics poster in the whole show and folks were much more anatomy and e-phys oriented this year.  One of the either great or unfortunate things about this conference (depending on your focus) is that the overarching direction of the theme can be pretty biased depending on who is organizing it that year and how many of their cronies are the primary speakers.

As such, my poster was not the star of the show and I have not yet been offered a post doc position.  Neither of these things are remotely reasonable expectations.  But this is who I am.  I set unreasonable goals with ridiculous standards, and that is how I am granted travel awards and fellowships, but it is also why I am sitting here tonight regretting that I did not try harder to be sociable.  That I did not harass all of the people that I could have.  That I did not reel them all in, and that I probably wont win the "Best Poster" award.

do not be self-defeatist

Sunday night came and went with far too little trouble.  No panic attack, no depressive bout.  I'm sure the beer helped.

I spent the weekend buying new Office software, backing up my home desktop computer in order to reformat to Windows 7 in order to be able to use said software, and furiously putting together 3 presentations.  I practiced one of them so many times on Sunday that my tongue gave out on me.  And then I decided to take a break.  With beer.

This morning, I am paying for the beer (2 bottles, btw) -- and probably the relaxation as well -- with unrelenting morning nausea and dizziness.  How I made the bike ride to work is a mystery.  How I will make it home later is an even greater mystery.

But in this physical unpleasantness, being thankful that all the undergrads are taking midterms this week and are not all up in my grill, I am making an honest effort to not be self-defeatist.  A subtle metaphor to my weekend, it is somewhat like reformatting my default mode and replacing it with a new operating system.

My week is not doomed from the start, my anxiety is unfounded, and the academic world will not decide Wednesday afternoon that I am not fit for a PhD. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that I'll run 2 min over.  Do not be self-defeatist, do not be self-defeatist, do not be self-defeatist.

things i need to work on

I have an unfortunate tendency to let people walk all over me.  Sometimes because it is not worth my time [read: energy expenditure] to argue, sometimes because I am -- despite my best efforts -- afraid of appearing the "bitchy woman".

I am not a fan of when people try to one-up me constantly, especially when I have worlds more knowledge of the subject at hand than they do.  This is not easy to avoid in any profession where men feel that they must appear the wisest and most knowledgeable.  I test the waters on occasion when the opportunity arises.  For instance, in lab the other day the topic vaccination came up and I mentioned the fascinating tidbit that Edward Jenner had created the first smallpox vaccination in 1796, which I knew because I had recently read the book Pox: An American History by Michael Willrich.  My labmate responded, "oh yeah, absolutely" as if this was a very obvious fact of which he was obviously aware (which was not even remotely the case).

I am particularly not a fan of the general response to my willingness to ask people about their perspective or experience being interpreted as weakness or stupidity.  For instance, when I observe that a  colleague uses a different technique than I practice, I inquire as to the reasoning behind it.  I am typically met with a verbose pontification explaining what is trying to be achieved and why their method is best.  Thereafter, I typically share the method that I use and express interest in both methods working equally well (although, not to toot my own horn, but often it turns out that the way I do things is more appropriate).

An occasion arose this past week on Friday when I attended a lecture on the Jewish perspective on stem cell research.  The talk was fascinating and I went home that evening and did some research on as many religious perspectives on stem cell research policy that I could find (note: there are surprisingly few books on this subject out there!).  During the talk, the lecturer mentioned that in the 19th century doctors only received 1-2 years of schooling.  A renowned professor in the audience then quipped, "of course: one year for blood-letting, and one for leeches."  Needless to say, having read several books on the evolution of medicine in the 19th century, I cringed.  I wanted so badly to raise my hand an mention that this was actually because at the time, the surgeons and dentists did many years of both apprenticing and schooling, and performed 90% of all medical procedures as the doctors themselves disliked physical involvement, believing that it separated them from God and made them "dirty".  Of course, as meagerly as I would have phrased such a correction, I said nothing as I did not want to appear the "bitchy know-it-all woman".

Clearly, there are some things I need to work on.  Clearly, if the men around me have no filters for sharing whatever is on their minds -- be it correct or not -- I should not feel shame in doing so either -- particularly when I am correct.  Clearly, I need to remove the sign from my forehead that says, "please, walk all over me and try to one-up everything I say."  Clearly, I need to accept that I probably do not come off as bitchy or know-it-all in the slightest, and be more assertive and exert my presence and my contributions to the environment around me.  Clearly, I need to start being more bitchy.

inner peace

I left work early today.  It was one of several instances lately when I have thrown up my hands before the ten-hour mark.  And I began to feel that inner grumble that mobilizes behind a shield of guilt in preparation for the battle against your will to take care of yourself amid the insanity.

Not only did I leave "early", I bailed on a last minute evening venture to see family up north.  Instead, I made myself some soup (oh yeah, also have been working through a cold lately in prolonged immuno-compromised fashion) and watched a stupid movie.

Right when the army of inner grumble set to charge, my phone rang.  It was a call from a most dear of loved ones, with whom I had not spoken for the long long end of several months.  A medical student herself, she had called to ask for my neurobiological expertise [read: expertise is her word].  The conversation extended, as long-craved ones do, far beyond the initial subject culminating in "so I'll get you from the airport and we'll grab dinner before you give your lecture!"  But further, it ended in our both being reminded of who we are and how we once functioned when we were college roommates.  I don't think it unfair to say that I was far more in need of that reminder than she, and far more in debt to her presence in my life than she to mine.

Of late, I have underestimated myself to a greater degree than is standard.  I have fallen into the stereotypy of academia: feeling like I have to do everything in my power [and out of my power] to impress people at all times, and making absurd excuses to myself for why I cannot always be impressive, and do everything, and be excellent at everything, and be a brilliant scientist at every moment.  It's a very hard thing for me to admit that that is an unrealistic and unachievable expectation.  For I have somewhat of a Sherlock Homes complex [read: not the genius, the obsession], or what Francis Crick calls an inclination toward mad pursuit.  An obsession with making the puzzle fit and finding the right pieces and doing it all in a timely fashion [often inhuman] with minimal mishap and maximum impact.  And I get upset when I cannot accomplish this while also being a marathon runner and party thrower and regular soup kitchen volunteer.

This is because it seems, to me, that everyone around me is accomplishing all these things with perfect grace and professionalism.  In reality, I have very flawed vision and graciously give all these accomplishments to all people, when in reality they are divided among many.  My brain knows this, but my mind does not.  And mind wins over brain every single time.

My dearest, most remarkable and admirable friend who called this evening reminded me that I need to suppress the incessant need to impress people all the time in every aspect.  That I have already impressed them, and need to take care of myself now.  Advice that keeps her alive and  in balance these days.  And so I have quelled the inner grumble, and am at peace with my decision to bail on work and on social call to take care of myself.

hi's and lo's

What is provoking this sudden flurry of posts??

Back on the anti-inflam diet today.  Feeling good.  Even rejected the primal urge to partake in free baked goods and coffee at a seminar.

[leftover] coconut flour biscuits courtesy of Comfy Tummy, cashew raisin carrot salad.  Dried ginger and cherries for dessert.

Eaten away by the hour, however, upon discovering this morning that I had made a mistake several months ago now that has been causing the problems in an experiment a colleague and I have been working on [on and off].  With each hour, it becomes more difficult to tolerate the mistake.  Minimally my fault as I was a complete noob thrown into a DIY cloning situation with almost no direction other than an end goal.  But months wasted nonetheless, and my own integrity disintegrating in the eyes of my colleague.

Funsies.  Evening deprecation.  Romanticizing about what a good night's sleep once felt like.  Feeling thrice my age.  Losing patience with my GI (elaboration to follow).

sunday nights

spent the entire weekend ignoring how blazingly overwhelmed i am, and how deeply it feels like i am failing everyone.

blast sunday nights.

is it fall yet?

I'm effing tired.

Everyone seems to think that I'm effing tired because I work 60-70 hrs a week.  We've been through this, folks.  I work 60-70 hrs a week because I'm obsessed, not because scienceownsmysoulomgfml.  I gave my soul to Science freely.

I'm effing tired because it's effing hot outside and I bike every day.  I'm effing tired because I have Crohn's disease.  I'm effing tired because the most horrifying and consuming tragedy I have ever experienced has been looming over me for the last 6 months and threatens indefiniteness.  And I'm effing tired because my entire lab seems to think that I don't contribute beyond my own projects (even though I do most of the lab-wide organization and cleaning up after people), and that I have no idea what I'm talking about (even though I have more experience with most techniques than anyone else and am actually quite good at what I do, despite the Jack Sparrow facade).  Perhaps I need to be more outspoken about my menial daily achievements?..

So before you tell me that I look exhausted and need to take time off of work, please consider that my work is one of 2 things (the second being H.K.) that is keeping me from a serious mental and physical breakdown.  Plz.  Thx.  Much love.

On a less snarky note, I got a SfN sponsored travel award to go to the conference in October.  Yay!

first grad student summer

I heard rumors.  People said, "take a real vacation before you start grad school, because you'll never have a summer again."  I took the counsel too lightly.  "I'll be fine," I assured them [myself] confidently, "I know how to avoid burn-out."  And the moment I realized that I had survived my first year of graduate school (by who knows what means), summer plans erupted.

I was going to go camping/hiking/state-hopping every weekend!!!  I was going to have energy during the summer -- oh yes.

Turns out, I've been working a lot of 10-12hr days 5-6 days a week, barely making an appearance at some wedding events and taking a whopping 2 days off with H.K. to enjoy nature, lakeside, and isolate ourselves (for the most part) from our work.

Proof!

Almost none of my "summer plans" have come to fruition.  I haven't visited loved ones in Colorado, I haven't yet been far enough north to see one of the greatest people on earth, and my shot at seeing my family this summer weighs on their being able to come down here.  Also, no camping has been achieved.  Much to accomplish before late September...

When people said "you'll never had a real vacation again"...  I suppose I didn't understand that that meant "you'll hardly ever have a free weekend again".  Semantics.

But as long as other people can forgive me, it's okay.  Because I love the small peppering of time I have with H.K., I love my new porch garden, I love being able to work through my large stack of leisure reading, and I love drowning in science.

year one recovery

Around the time that my last final exam was submitted for Core, I slept until 3pm.  I got out of bed at 3pm for the sole purpose of seeing Prometheus.  I went back to sleep immediately afterward.

Since that day -- roughly 2 weeks ago now -- unless I am in lab or otherwise actively doing something, I am constantly exhausted.  The kind of exhausted where I opt to remain where I am sitting/laying instead of obtaining food.  Since almost nothing (sans incredible pain or nausea) has the power to make me abstain from food, this state strikes me as noteworthy.

In the same period, I have now had 2 bouts of extraordinarily painful attacks.  The kind where the pain can't be contained by the gut alone and invites the spine to orchestrate the party in nearly paralyzing waves.

It occurs to me that this is yet another one of those instances where stress has suppressed my immune system (the other part of the immune system that Remicade does not touch) so intensely for so long that immediately upon release from said stress, the body goes wild exercising all the things it could not do during suppression. Namely, sleep and flare.

Thank you, Core.  Damn you, and may we never meet again.

grad school priorities #6

What I should be doing:

Absolutely not a damn thing.  Hiking, maybe?  Cleaning my house?... the sky is the limit!

What I'm actually doing:

Freaking out because I'm not in lab or studying.

grad school priorities #5

What I should be doing:

Studying for the midterm that may decide whether or not I get put on academic probation.

What I'm doing instead:

Way too many surgeries and perfusions.  All week long.  Thanks to my PI for that last-minute timeline change. 

tremendous pain and throughput reunited

Last night, I was paid a visit from my dear old friend, Tremendous Pain.  TP -- stoked to see me -- insisted on re-hashing everything we had ever done together (ALL the old times).

As luck would have it, my oxy had not expired.   Neither had the Promethazine I was out like a light by 8pm.  Until 3am, when the roaring from my tummeh all but woke H.K. from his own deep slumber.  The next two hours were spent crumpled intermittently on the floor of the bathroom.  TP had revitalized his old buddy Throughput, and together they had a splendid time bringing me to my knees.  Fortunately, as soon as the battle quelled I had an hour left to rehabilitate in bed.

Somewhat less fortunately, I had a 3 hr class to teach this morning.  Yeah.   TP was ready to call it a night, but Throughput was still eager to party.  And Promethazine?  That bitch just does not metabolize.  So this morning, I lectured and taught a 3 hr lab to a group of unsuspecting undergrads as a Throughput Zombie.

What is the point to all this complaining, you ask?  To prove that I am a bad ass mother, and that TP, Throughput and Promethazine be damned, my students will learn neuropharmacology today.  In all honesty, I have no idea how I made it through without a vasovagal event.  The only thing I want in the entire world right now is to sleep it off.  But Raga has a presentation tomorrow morning...

grad school priorities #4

What I should be doing:

Refining my lecture on scientific writing for tomorrow morning.

What I am doing instead:

Drinking wine and eating sushi, because the Week 1 of 5 Weeks of Hell will not give me a break even in my dreams.  Also because I rocked the pants off of my departmental presentation today.

grad school priorities #3

What I should be doing today:

Practicing my departmental presentation.

What I'm doing instead:

Shopping for grown-up clothes to wear for my presentation, and running Western Blots.

grad school priorities #2

72 hours to midterm: anxiety

24 hours to midterm: depression

10 hours to midterm: apathy

grad school priorities #1

What I should have done before class this morning:

Read papers for discussion so as not to look a fool.

What I did this morning instead:

Realigned my bike wheel, Sharpied over the spots on my sweater that got bleached in lab, sewed up a hole in my sock.

Adventures in the Cancer Infusion Center: Real Live Support Group

Many of us are fortunate enough to have loved ones of all types who recognize our limitations and support our ventures in overcoming them.  H.K. is one such phenomenal human being.  But in the end, there is nothing like talking to the MS patient in the infusion chair beside you for two hours; he with his Tysabri and you with your Remicade.

Mr. Jones was a happily married father of two kids in college.  He was, without question, the most talkative person I have ever met in the infusion center -- and although creepily Michael Keaton-looking, the youngest besides myself.

He was diagnosed with MS when his children were 9 and 11 years old, and took advantage of every feasible route to being able to keep his job and contribute to supporting his young family.  Last year, with his kids finally moved out of the house, Mr. Jones had to retire (there is no way the guy was over 45) due to the cognitive irregularities and physical strain he suffered from MS-induced lesions.  He started Tysabri treatment, and I met him today during his 14th infusion.

Interestingly, Mr. Jones brought me into a conversation with his nurse about recent numbness in his limbs (a side effect of Tysabri).  He was elated to inform me that he has never fallen, because when he notices he is walking funny, wherever he is, he sits.

I was regaled with stories of other MS patients in his support group who are confined to wheel chairs and whose spouses left them because they could not take the demand.  Who fell out of their wheel chairs trying to get out of their houses because their adult sons (yes, plural) could not build them a plywood ramp... or help them cross the threshold, evidently.  I was brought to the verge of tears several times.

He was visibly perplexed at my being in graduate school.  "Dude, aren't you totally exhausted all the time?" he entreated, "how to you think clearly enough?"  We addressed each other as "dude", which I thoroughly enjoyed.

"Well -- hah -- I am, and I don't really.  Especially during exams," was my reply.  And it could not be more true.

Being surrounded by other graduate students is amazing in many ways, one of which is that I feel completely normal in their company.  The caveat, of course, is that I begin to wonder why I am not acting so normal.  Why am I not up for a study group until 2am?  Why am I not up for going out to dinner on a Wednesday night?  I tell them that I need to spend time with H.K., which could not be more true.  But I don't tell them that I am impossibly wiped out from the day and I can't think of anything but eating and sleeping.  Omitting the latter excuse from my responses makes me forget that I'm not just being the troglodyte homebody out of lack of interest... I'm being a troglodyte homebody because I'm not healthy.

This is not to say that I'm not doing incredibly well.  Sans the blepharitis, nausea and exhaustion I am healthier than I have been since I was 10 years old.  Mr. Jones reminded me that I am legit.  He also reminded me how fortunate I am to be doing so well on Remicade.  And he reminded me how phenomenal is my spouse.  I couldn't feel more honored to have met him.  Thank you, Mr. Jones.

Second term wraps up

I have officially passed my second term of graduate school.  "Unscathed" and "successfully" are not the right adjectives, but I feel like a more evolved scientist no matter what the politics of graduate school think of me.  To celebrate, H.K. and I went on a small hike this weekend.

Yes, that thar is the ocean.

That is not to say that I haven't done well.  I have.

Yours truly is -- as of several weeks ago, actually -- part of a new lab home.  Where did I end up, you ask out of unbearable curiosity?  Why, in the bustling and exciting new lab of Dr. StemCell!  I have a tremendous project manipulating cell therapy in several PD models and cannot wait to imbue myself full-time this summer.

The Crohn's baby has been oddly tolerant of the inordinate levels of stress that this term has induced.  Only three minor flares the whole term.  The rest of my body, I'm afraid, has not been so tolerant.  It seems that I have developed anemia again, and consequently have been demonstrating vasovagal responses all too frequently for anyone's liking.

Apparently I have joined the ranks of the chronically anxious (although one would think that anxiety would be accompanied by more frequent flares, hence, "oddly tolerant").  My awesome university physician has a philosophy that there are two kinds of graduate students: the kind that are on SSRI's and the kind that should be.  She also recommends the greens, which I can't say that I'm opposed to.

In other fascinating news, my constitutively dry eyes which were "diagnosed" roughly a year ago have advanced into a new stage of dysfunction.  Welcome, Blepharitis, to my platoon of Misfit Side-Effects!  Since the psoriasis, exoskeleton nose and bladder infections calmed down I've been aching for a new challenge.  Srsly though, thank god for polyquaternium eye drops.

And -- AND -- my new anti-nausea drug (Zofran) does not knock me out cold.  Which means that I can actually take it when needed.  Score.

Things I learned in graduate school, Part II

1.  Do not forget to eat food.

2.  Do not forget to eat food and then half a cup of coffee and a handful of Pringles for lunch.

3.  Do not forget to eat food, have coffee for lunch, and then take a full dose of antispasmotic.

4.  Do not forget to eat food, have coffee for lunch, take a full dose of anti-spasmotic and then nearly fall out of your chair from being high while your PI is explaining a complicated procedure to you which you will be expected to perform for the first time on your own the following day.