Why hasn’t anyone written a TV show about grad student life? There are so many doctor and lawyer shows out there. But as far as I’m aware, there’s nothing about just… being a grad student. Kind of silly, if you ask me. There’s much potential. Imagine this: young grad student, fresh out of a small liberal arts college with a 4.0 GPA/Phi Beta Kappa/Summa Cum Laude/whatever in Biology starts grad school at XYZ prestigious university in Biomedical Engineering (think MIT/Columbia/Harvard/Penn). At first she’s completely overwhelmed by the new surroundings (think suburbs girl in the big city), the new curriculum, the hotshots in her lab, the other grad students (some of whom are condescending towards her obscure degree and her lack of engineering training, even though she’s good at math). At times, her Southern, semi-conservative parents play cameos and question why she’s doing research in sin (embryonic stem cells). Of course, she has cute classmates and cute coworkers in her labs. And there’s drama and competition for grants, being the best researcher in the lab, and of course, finding a romantic interest. Maybe she can have a roommate who’s PhD-ing in… philosophy or medieval literature but who has a passionate affair with one of the professors in her department (with a library sex scene of course). There’s so much potential in such a pitch! The lab and the housemates provide a ready-made ensemble cast, and the general fluidity of grad student life provides so much story material. Plus, they’re at the right age for both one night stands and marriage/starting a family. Come on, Hollywood!

Last month, while staying at my relatives’ place in-between clearing out after finals and moving in to my summer apartment, I had a long talk with my aunt about medicine, possible career paths with an MD degree, and things I could do during my gap year. I suppose she sensed that I was getting exhausted with academia. Instead of suggesting the usual “Work in a lab!” option, she started to talk about the experiences of the some of the med school students and interns who worked for her in the past. One student went to culinary school. Another backpacked across South America. Someone else volunteered in a health clinic in Africa. The stories sounded so adventurous and fulfilling. But

“I can’t do any of those things,” I said. “I have to be in the country during my application year. And I already come off as an unfocused candidate.”

“What makes you say that,” my aunt asked.

“Well,” I said, “I wasted 2.5 years of my life working for the student newspaper. I loved it, but which med school committee is going to care about that, especially since I quit before my senior year, and I was never photo editor — not that I ever wanted to be — but it would have looked better on paper. I also had a major shift in activities this last year. And to top it all off, I’m majoring in something that I have a hard time enjoying. I have no idea how I’m going to wing the ‘Why I chose XYZ major’ essay on my application and question on my interview.”

“But chemical engineering is a different field,” my aunt responded. “There aren’t too many doctors who chose to study that. Think about what you could contribute with that degree. Or how it could help you get where I want”

“That’s just it,” I sighed. “I really don’t know… everyone, myself included, seems to think that I’m best suited for academia. But I don’t know if I want a career in research. I like it, of course, but to spend my entire life doing it… “

My aunt didn’t say anything. Maybe she was at a loss as to how to respond, or maybe there was nothing to be said. Not wanting the conversation to end, I asked, “What exactly do you do? You talk about patients, but not that often.”

She smiled. “I do see some patients through private practice,” she said. “But mostly, I teach.”

“You can teach?” I asked. “Without a PhD?”

“Of course. Many of my collegues get an MD/MPH, and some have PhDs, but neither are required. It’s a great profession. Your hours are more flexible, and you get to have the best of all worlds: you do research, you can see patients on the side, but you’re training the future doctors of the world. And there’s so much you can do in this side of academia: consulting, management, policy, insurance, clincial research, laboratory research. The starting salaries are low, and it’s harder to advance unless you go to a name-brand med school. But it’s pretty good, especially for those of us who can’t deal with patients 24/7.”

“By low starting salaries, you mean…”

“150K. 200K. Again, not that lucrative, especially when compared to specializing.”

“Yeah… very low…….. “ 

The conversation tapered off afterwards, as my cousins came in to the kitchen, demanding why we weren’t watching Dancing with the Stars with them. But over the next couple of weeks, I found myself thinking about the teaching side of medical academia. I hadn’t heard of anyone pursuing this path, probably because of the “non-lucrativeness.” But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it sounded so much more fulfilling to me than just seeing patients or just doing research. It was something I could actually see myself doing 15 years down the road. It even made all my college activities seem more cohesive.

So that’s that. I don’t think I’ll be looking into MD/PhD programs anymore. I’ll have to talk to my pre-med advisor about this (and she’ll probably kill me for only figuring this out now as opposed to two years ago). But I think this may work out. Maybe I’ll even look into doing one of those MPH in 1 year programs while I’m in med school. And if I really miss research, I can always reapply for a degree or do research with just an MD. At any rate, it’s nice having a clear goal to aspire towards again. If only these stupid MCATs weren’t so tedious…

thedailywhat:

This Is The Worst of the Day: A wave of oil spotted approaching the shores of Alabama.

[ecoterrorist.]

I’m not sure how this is even physically possible. Regardless, it’s disgusting. I don’t understand why BP is taking its time in employing dispersants (which are biodegradable and, for the most part, pretty harmless. Seriously, don’t listen to Twitter. I will back up this claim soon! ), since they’re not going to be able to contain or stop the spill until at least August. Ugh.

That is all.

No Internet on my laptop at work again. Don’t really understand why my wireless adapter seems to have issues with the Med Center of all places. But the lack of connection with “the rest of the world” has some benefits. For example, I can now finish the tedious task of cell counting in under an hour. I can also study for the MCATs instead of surfing through Google Reader during my downtime. Boring trivialities, perhaps. But I like not being tied down. The autonomy is kind of nice. And it’s not even like I chat that much anymore, anyway.

How much of the world is missed when one chooses to live inside her head? 

Stupid question, perhaps. But I spent a good portion of this afternoon (when I wasn’t watching the US vs. UK World Cup game) walking around different parts of the city… only I don’t remember much. Or rather, I remember being there, but I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts and preconceptions of the world ought to be (specifically, how I should lead my life. Even more specifically, how I was going to juggle studying for MCATs with my job), I didn’t really pay much attention to my surroundings, to how the world actually is. Now that I think about it, I’ve been doing that a lot these past few months. I don’t know if it was a symptom of being a young twenty-something, a generational flaw, or my own self-absorbness (is that a word?) shining through again. Gross. 

Perhaps I should attempt to write about things that have nothing to do with my daily life.  

With the World Cup frenzy starting today, I feel like I should say (or write) something about it. Unfortunately, I don’t know enough about the tournament or about soccer to really comment at the moment. A couple of the grad students in my lab commandeered the giant projector in our conference room to watch the world cup this morning. Tomorrow, some of my friends are getting up at the crack of dawn to watch the US vs. UK game. Alas, while they’re chugging beer at 9 AM, I’ll be slugging away in an MCAT diagnostic test. But maybe afterwards…

This evening I came home to discover that my fridge had stopped working. The timing was terrible, given that I had just bought chicken, milk, eggs, vegetables, and other perishables the day before, hoping to perfect my culinary skills. I threw everything into the freezer, thinking that maybe that would keep everything from going bad. A phone call home, however, told me otherwise. Turns out eggs go bad in cold temperatures, as do fresh vegetables. Oops. There was only one dish I could think of that combined all of the ingredients in jeopardy: curry. 

Indian curry, when prepared right, is the most magical medley of spices, vegetables, and (sometimes) meat known to man. Every Saturday morning when I was growing up, I’d wake up to find my mom preparing some form of chicken curry for the week. While reading or doing homework or watching TV or arguing, I’d always watch out of the corner of my eye as my mom prepared the masala needed for flavor, season the chicken, prepare the coconut base, chop the onions, and more. It seemed like some type of superpower, cooking curry, a mystical ability passed on from mother to daughter when the time was right. Of course, every time my mom tried to teach me, I came up with one excuse or another, citing that I was too busy or just not interested. I didn’t feel ready to take on the challenge, and I was lazy. 

Such excuses were not appropriate for this evening, however. I had to cook something, and I had to cook something fast, unless I wanted $25 dollars of groceries to go down the drain. Wishing I had paid more attention back home, I rummaged through the apartment’s spice cabinet to see what I could put together. There were no curry leaves to be found, but I did stumble across the basic black pepper and garlic combination. I threw in a mystery “Indian spice” into the mix, figuring that maybe it would serve as a passable substitute to what I was used to. After frying the makeshift masala, I sauteed some mushrooms and asparagus into the mix, and then poured milk into the pan to create the curry. A few hardboiled eggs later, and voila! Rudimentary college egg curry! 

Unfortunately, the Americanized Indian spice was only to be used in small doses… with meat, not egg, and certainly not with vegetables. This meant cinnamonized, tangy, not exactly edible curry. Like a good Indian mother, however, instead of throwing away the mess, I packaged it and stored it in the freezing for safe-keeping. With rest of the groceries, I made chocolate chip cookies (which didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped, as I experimented with a new recipe), and a rather bland (but still edible) baked chicken with vegetables. But even with the first failure, I had still succeeded in cooking Indian food… after all, I didn’t burn the place down, and I finished without my mother to bail me out. Maybe I’ll try again next week. 

So, I said I was going to write something every single day this summer. And so far… yeah. I have been very busy these past couple of weeks. The truth is, however, that I’m rather afraid this project. I’m afraid that I might be perceived as weak, either for the stuff I put down here, the quality of my writing, or the fact that I’m even doing this in the first place. I’m afraid that maybe a medical school admissions committee will stumble upon this and deem me a non-serious or flaky candidate. I’m afraid that someone I know (family, friend, professor, coworker, whoever) or even a stranger will read this and go, “Wow, what a headcase. Lame.” 

But honestly, these fears are unbelievably silly and stem from two irrational yet common roots: a desire to please other people/caring about what others think and a lack of self-worth. I could, of course, say, “Gross, why am I having these thoughts in the first place? What’s wrong with me?” But that falls in the latter category and doesn’t really lead to anywhere (I would know. I’ve been doing it for the past 2 years). I don’t really think there’s anything wrong, or rather, abnormal, about having these feelings either. No one likes to bring them up, but everyone struggles with these two pervasive impulses. Cliche statement, yes, but it’s still true. 

I have no intentions about making a song and dance about myself. But if I want to get over these two mental habits once and for all, I really should keep up with this puppy. I like writing. I have a lot of opinions. And I think a lot, sometimes too much, and often times, about the wrong things or along the wrong vein (hello, over-complicating the Transport Final!). But more importantly, I don’t want these fears to bring me down, a fate I have observed in a few of the once most wonderful people I knew. I have a lot on my plate this summer, but I’m going to keep up with this mental exercise, even if it gets super sucky. I’ll probably cringe a week later for writing this (or openly admitting these things in “public,” rather), and knowing my luck, I’ll probably have some idiot bring this up in the real world. But no fear! 

Dear Times Picayune, NYTimes, CNN, WaPo, Fox News, the entire Twitterverse, and anyone else who feels the need to bash BP for the failed Top Kill attempt,

Seriously, stop. The Top Kill approach was a good idea, as anyone who has taken some form of fluid mechanics will tell you. Fluids flow from areas of high to low pressure (think leaving a space jam packed with people to an adjacent room with more breathing room, either because it has more volume or less people). In this case, the oil is flowing from underground, where it’s cramped in, to a more open area… the Gulf. The only way to stop this is to break the pressure gradient, either by blocking the original pipe/path, thereby shifting the direction of the pressure gradient — the oil will stay in the ground —, or by diverting the flow. The Top Kill approach employed the first option. Unfortunately, the pressure drop across the length of the pipe was too great; nothing could withstand the force of the oil stream (think water flowing from a tap. No matter what you do, you can’t force the water to travel back up the tap, no matter what heavy dish you put outside to stop the flow). But that’s not BP’s fault. Yes, this entire fiasco should not have happened in the first place, and yes, BP absolutely should have acted much sooner. But the Top Kill approach was a logical and thought-out solution that probably wasn’t going to work due to the nature of the system but still had to be attempted. Don’t beat up on them for that.

As for the other accusations that nothing they are doing will ever work, that they aren’t doing anything, that they don’t care and should all be fired and sued, that seems a bit over the top, eh? (Cajun Boy, I’m looking at you). The people responsible should and will be sued. But the rest of the company is doing all they can and is pulling in help from outside sources. No one wants to wipe out the wildlife surrounding the Gulf. But the next attempt in cleaning the mess, building a relief well to divert the flow of the oil, will take time. Employing dispersants, however, can help alleviate the contamination by breaking the masses of oil into tiny droplets that will scatter further but will cause no harm (think soap breaking down dirt; you can thank thermodynamics for this approach). These approaches won’t clean the Gulf immediately, but they will save it in the long run.

The oil spill should never have happened. If the workers in charge of the rig had not cut corners (and arguably, if BP, LA, and the US government had tighter regulations), this entire catastrophe could have been avoided. As a New Orleanian native and as a (reluctant) chemical engineer in training, I am personally disgusted at the culprits’ incompetence and scared about how the spill will affect LA. But the entire company is not to blame for the accident, nor is it (or Vitter or Landreau or Obama or anyone else) to blame for the failure of the Top Kill attempt or for the longevity of the next approaches. That’s science at work; it’s all anyone can do at this point (really). So please, direct your anger at where it really belongs: the safety regulators. Don’t bash the scientists and engineers. They’re doing their job to the best of their abilities, and they want to fix this. I would know; my dad is in that number. Learn your science and facts before pointing blame, please.

Regards, A worried, angry New Orleanian