top o' the mornin'

Good things in life often come pint-sized.

cute enough to eat (or bite)

The new crop of cousins in my family is full of girls, girls and more girls. Every family event is an explosion of pink and princess paraphernalia. Disney makes beaucoup bucks off of the PNKD clan. Recent count: 3 boys, 7 girls, 1 girl "bun in the oven." 

My theory: Agent Orange altered the Pham Y chromosome.

Regardless, they all make my heart go pitter-patter. 

And yes, I know this is the second recent post with baby pictures.
1. It's not my fault that Asian babies are cute.
2. I'm full-time studying and have mastered the art of procrastination.
3. It's better than being a creepy cat-lady.

too sweet for words

loric | 4 months | 03.14.10

cheeks made to be squeezed &kissed

rylan | 2 years | 03.14.10

wishin' every moment could be like this moment

river pham | houston | march 2010

what type are you

The folks at pentagram have managed to meld the arts of personality typing and typography: what type are you. Four question character analysis and voilà, your perfect type.

emotional

assertive

traditional

disciplined

"If you always demand that things be in order and then are always incredibly moved when they are, Pistilli Roman is your type."

p.s. Jessica, i thought of you especially and your admiration for all things myers-briggs. (fyi, i'm an ESFJ.)

lone star state

I'm spending this month - the entire month - living with my parents in Houston while studying for Step 2 of my boards. This will be the longest I've been "home" in the last decade. It's taking some getting used to but the livin' ain't bad.

1. Home-cooked Vietnamese meals. 'nuff said.

2. Sunny and 60s. Goodbye schizo Atlanta weather, helloooo sandals.

3. My brother's TV. Jack Shepard & Sawyer never looked so good.

4. Cousins, cousins & cousins, oh my. Catholics are good at procreation.

5. Cruising through the 'burbs in my mother's Mercedes. Strangely, it's a smoother ride than my Toyota Camry that recently got recalled.

6. Last but not least, FOB parents (and grandparents) are funny.

Me: Dear Mom, I hate studying. Love, your daughter.
Mom: I hate study too that why I have no degree. [verbatim]

Grandmother: You're 27? Your goods are getting dried up.
[rough translation]

It's good to be home.

unbeing dead isn't being alive.

e.e. cummings

XX v. XY

I'm currently at the VA Atlanta Medical Center on my second month of internal medicine. Read: lots of old crotchety men. Many have fought in the Vietnam War. Many have PTSD. Clearly, I pick and choose who I tell that I'm Vietnamese.

I spent one morning talking to a Navy veteran who had served in WWII, Korean War and Vietnam War. His wife was at his bedside and the easy comfortable love that flowed between them was palpable. He suffers from dementia and repeated himself often but his personality and spunk were wholly intact.

Some of his pearls of "wisdom":
"It's not, did I shoot down any kamikazes. It's how many did I shoot?"
"When you discover something bad, name it after me!"
"Every day is a holiday and every meal is a banquet."

Point is, I like old crotchety men. And they like me. And it's making me reconsider my current decision to go into OB/GYN. Read: lots of women.

What's a girl to do?

I know what she should do. Take a year off. Get her MPH. And spend that year deciding what she'll be when she eventually "grows up."

The Rain in Spain

good food.
good times.
good company.
what more could a girl ask for?

bearing witness.

This week I performed chest compressions on a patient who was coding.
This week the patient passed away.
This week has been hard.

Mr. R was only 36 years old. He came into Grady with severe abdominal pain and distention. During his work-up, our team newly diagnosed end-stage liver cancer that had metastasized to his spine and bones. The final pathology report was still pending but his prognosis was not good. The goal of this admission was to control his pain and to have him follow-up with oncology as an outpatient.

But on day # 6 of his stay, he coded. As I pumped on his chest - ironically to the rate of the Bee Gees' song "Stayin' Alive" - I thought of his 9 year old daughter. She had lost her mother when she was 2 years old; she had died suddenly in the home while pregnant, likely secondary to preeclampsia complications. The body was found a few days later with the small child alone in the home. With each pump, I thought to myself, "That little girl is not going to become an orphan today, not today."

Mr. R was resuscitated, but before being transferred to the medical ICU, he looked directly into my eyes and asked, "Am I dead?" I answered, "No sir, you're going to be okay. Hang in there. We're going to take care of you," as I stroked his hand.
After a family meeting, his code status was changed to DNR/DNI: do not resuscitate/do not intubate. The following morning, he coded again and passed away at around 7am. His little girl, only 9 years old, was now an orphan.

My friend Howie once challenged me to write more uplifting blogs. But it's hard. I don't feel the need to write as much when I'm full of cheer and glee. But when something causes the emotional equivalent of a punch to the gut, I'm more likely to put my scattered thoughts into words. I debated on a public blog vs a private journal entry. But I opted for the more public option: as a means of bearing witness to this man's life, as a way to remember that we were a part of this man's care at the end of his life, as a way to document one of those defining moments of my fledgling medical career.

I had helped keep this man alive by literally keeping his heart pumping. And less than 24 hours later, he was gone.

I cried in my car as I drove away from Grady that afternoon. And then I went about my business: a haircut followed by dinner at a Thai restaurant. It was surreal to be going through the motions of everyday life - small talk with the stylist, ordering a beer at dinner, reading an article on acute chest syndrome - while waves of raw emotion intermittently drowned me. I tried to talk to my mother and that didn't help. I tried to talk to my sister and that didn't help. I tried to talk to classmates and that didn't help.

I wanted to cry and scream but instead, I packaged my emotions into a neat little box ... and moved on.

week in review.

I finished my surgery rotation.
I turned 27.
I leave for my Spanish holiday.

...in my book, that's not a bad week...

See you in 2010.