tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62900993945830863192024-03-05T12:35:54.042-05:00Pale Blue DotPale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-26200132503824245752010-03-25T14:27:00.008-04:002010-03-25T15:25:13.993-04:00Pictures!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6woIoKml25F9kR5YYolme4hGMit2lGVLV0wbIpbGUyBhEaNi0tUI4UwSl3Uo23LzY6cDwVikppMylB-A98tjcTiMr0IzfEUPDN6pxaWltK5eeTBG6Fc8lVNi2Yq-Z1OA6t1K6p9bpy8/s1600/IMG_0521.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6woIoKml25F9kR5YYolme4hGMit2lGVLV0wbIpbGUyBhEaNi0tUI4UwSl3Uo23LzY6cDwVikppMylB-A98tjcTiMr0IzfEUPDN6pxaWltK5eeTBG6Fc8lVNi2Yq-Z1OA6t1K6p9bpy8/s320/IMG_0521.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452640169392898626" border="0" /></a>The Dutch neighborhood in Potsdam, the first Western suburb of Berlin. It was part of East Germany, but since reunification has turned into *the* place to live outside Berlin, with large homes, miles of forests and lakes, and many young families. It has a "Dutch neighborhood" because it wanted to attract Dutch immigrants way back when, when the city was a mecca of European immigration. Potsdam was also the home of some Prussian kings (see below), housed part of the Berlin Wall, and is connected to Berlin by the Glienicke Bridge, where the US and Soviet Union traded spies during the Cold War. Additionally (just when you thought this city couldn't get more exciting!), there is a little Russian village within Potsdam, called Alexandrowka, which was built in 1825 for a group of Russian singers. Several houses are still standing, and some are even still owned by the descendants of the original owners. Sorry I didn't get a picture, I was in a moving vehicle, but you can see pictures of it <a href="http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Museum_Alexandrowka">here</a>. It is very cool in person. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVhaiuFx270tyVHfKtz7ji1q5WUyNj19o5AT3XjtIrsZTcxIvuh8-7CMsODLKCY9r84hMw5FqdAm_jpr2sekHKn74DVgKf1xE1-Qwj8gQC8eKW6Rg46ZrZFF6zFQDTUQWCpthoZuuYIc/s1600/IMG_0506.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVhaiuFx270tyVHfKtz7ji1q5WUyNj19o5AT3XjtIrsZTcxIvuh8-7CMsODLKCY9r84hMw5FqdAm_jpr2sekHKn74DVgKf1xE1-Qwj8gQC8eKW6Rg46ZrZFF6zFQDTUQWCpthoZuuYIc/s320/IMG_0506.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452641172745079058" border="0" /></a>Nothing says "Ich liebe dich" like potatoes on your grave. (Disclaimer: This is the "tomb" of Frederick the Great, aka Old Fritz, aka The Potato King [I am not making this up]. It's his "tomb" because he was not actually buried here [though apparently he wanted to be]. He's supposed to be the reason potatoes are so widely eaten in Germany. I'll spare you the details of that scintillating tale.)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHGgFM94zgEAzyy_YMVs9JXk3wPjC464f4WrQUARbH4-jwnDePNz0Mah7VOpFY2uszpR8ygVWoLCZDpq72DNanqTz75DvEpzkND59lZGvf7F_v-75GZPYV6XAdYestWds6kSWgAlPgO0/s1600/IMG_0539.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHGgFM94zgEAzyy_YMVs9JXk3wPjC464f4WrQUARbH4-jwnDePNz0Mah7VOpFY2uszpR8ygVWoLCZDpq72DNanqTz75DvEpzkND59lZGvf7F_v-75GZPYV6XAdYestWds6kSWgAlPgO0/s320/IMG_0539.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452644107868446930" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yhg2EhDdBca4ztSbMzxXaCdaeSlffJUl8-uiGzFciAQOcDsf9ct7taew88sSnnlogH_UC14r3e6pIy_jAzbyWKD-XW4dxohTHEjSwotlLMgrTsls0zSvIfKQa_SVrjn33biN2_niaKw/s1600/IMG_0535.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yhg2EhDdBca4ztSbMzxXaCdaeSlffJUl8-uiGzFciAQOcDsf9ct7taew88sSnnlogH_UC14r3e6pIy_jAzbyWKD-XW4dxohTHEjSwotlLMgrTsls0zSvIfKQa_SVrjn33biN2_niaKw/s320/IMG_0535.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452643249746739490" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNEO4v2bgbE9pTjLG9Kojs1s5BECm445zsV99EPhAH5q04KpdtDagiFP1k8nkObqR2qBPwZHVImXG4kBqvBsvT-bsLOi6s5h5-ps4FCAaNBN0MZE7oS6lDOfMtiuhkYyR4olM0DJNvMVw/s1600/IMG_0525.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNEO4v2bgbE9pTjLG9Kojs1s5BECm445zsV99EPhAH5q04KpdtDagiFP1k8nkObqR2qBPwZHVImXG4kBqvBsvT-bsLOi6s5h5-ps4FCAaNBN0MZE7oS6lDOfMtiuhkYyR4olM0DJNvMVw/s320/IMG_0525.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452642355552133906" border="0" /></a>I went to see the Berlin Wall <span style="font-style: italic;">in situ</span>, if you will (and I know you will), at a place called the East Side Gallery, where artists have painted a long stretch of the wall with different murals. I would probably put this up there as one of the top three things *not* to be missed in Berlin, even though I just made it out there at the end of my trip. The different murals, by artists all over the world, are <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> cool. <br /></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-14099521670930727942010-03-15T09:48:00.014-04:002010-03-15T10:51:25.482-04:00Munich, etcUpdates from chilly Deutschland. Things are good here, I'm actually learning a little German, which is exciting. I wanted to post a couple pictures, largely because I don't want to be out-vacation-blogged by Natalie, which I will be ultimately because she a) is in Spain, and b) takes fantastic pictures, but I can at least attempt to keep up while I'm here... :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlbu_ASyI5QM_Czo1ibJITYbYfJp2oqLAMjD5YWoqapl_7MqWyfR8a6LFvUxNzF82vSqAFwi9T9W-IuYfoIwupSo2TzYbM2b2eqc60w_5o19rY0MQurOLpui-gned77ScL-cJF78aWDE/s1600-h/IMG_7033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlbu_ASyI5QM_Czo1ibJITYbYfJp2oqLAMjD5YWoqapl_7MqWyfR8a6LFvUxNzF82vSqAFwi9T9W-IuYfoIwupSo2TzYbM2b2eqc60w_5o19rY0MQurOLpui-gned77ScL-cJF78aWDE/s320/IMG_7033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448860053166920002" border="0" /></a>I spent the weekend in Munich, which was totally worth the 6-hour train ride to meet my friend Anna, who lives as far away from Berlin as possible while still being in Germany. Munich was equally out of the way for both of us, so it was perfect! I got to experience the "real" Germany (right, Anna??) by drinking a mug of beer the size of a small person, getting hit on by drunk foreign men, and eating pastries soaked in gooey cream and sugar. I tried to wrestle Anna into a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dirndl">Dirndl</a>, but she's surprisingly strong and resisted. So I don't have any pictures of that, alas.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwUj6UZyoIKkMP2dmgdHNq_DFboxfazx-_PmkoWdXo48vNHSoHBJkM00Rf2yukpn-YBOII3fGvvACgyaRH07Gk-xc2y7_Okrq37jLVRKBkq4FwTylsxLw0gGK5wK_su34P9zvuV1gYx8/s1600-h/IMG_7055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwUj6UZyoIKkMP2dmgdHNq_DFboxfazx-_PmkoWdXo48vNHSoHBJkM00Rf2yukpn-YBOII3fGvvACgyaRH07Gk-xc2y7_Okrq37jLVRKBkq4FwTylsxLw0gGK5wK_su34P9zvuV1gYx8/s320/IMG_7055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448858595530416738" border="0" /></a>Munich Lions<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtt3Cq3yaicCebA1tkbo8qFsLBeLCwGPqW15OdnJB2sebobDlO-emsXu4_b3T4aqS561ykQwiB9ON3M6Q_VlRg_8O2Fw_3jlU137IGzhsRDvOPZvSLZTbYI5jmwn195r9kqsPRrbotf8/s1600-h/IMG_7037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtt3Cq3yaicCebA1tkbo8qFsLBeLCwGPqW15OdnJB2sebobDlO-emsXu4_b3T4aqS561ykQwiB9ON3M6Q_VlRg_8O2Fw_3jlU137IGzhsRDvOPZvSLZTbYI5jmwn195r9kqsPRrbotf8/s320/IMG_7037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448868639404784690" border="0" /></a>Anna demonstrating my newest vocabulary word: Schweinshaxe (on a boar outside Munich's hunting and fishing museum). Yum.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6N-ij67HULZ-6pBwA8Obg5EgNr8BUBJP6imGhf1xW6Q38UlyGrp-vTThudstm1VEOO441hjNF8krHwv3acEQiybIFK3x899GHlklVTkIatg1oXaymbMk9dTEwLn3lfj8NX3rmuWhm3-4/s1600-h/IMG_0211.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6N-ij67HULZ-6pBwA8Obg5EgNr8BUBJP6imGhf1xW6Q38UlyGrp-vTThudstm1VEOO441hjNF8krHwv3acEQiybIFK3x899GHlklVTkIatg1oXaymbMk9dTEwLn3lfj8NX3rmuWhm3-4/s320/IMG_0211.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448857939144509474" border="0" /></a>This is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brandenburg_Gate">Brandenburger Tor</a> (Brandenburg Gate) in Berlin. (I think this picture came out pretty well despite being taken on my phone.) The gate is a major symbol of Berlin, being involved in so much of its history. It was finished in 1791, and the statue on top (the Quadriga) was taken to Paris by Napoleon after a Prussian defeat in 1806. The gate was one of the only structures in the area to remain standing after Berlin was bombed in WWII. The Berlin wall was constructed just west of the gate, enclosing it in (Soviet) East Berlin. It's a pretty impressive structure. I'll try to get back there with a real camera one day. :) On of the things I like about Berlin is that it's so clearly still being rebuilt. The Wall only came down 20 years ago, and there are still areas along where it ran where there's nothing more than weed-strewn lots with nothing there yet. There also isn't that much architecture that is obviously old, like the Brandenburg Gate, like there is in Paris, for example. It's a major capital city that's still becoming itself, in a way.Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-91032327534780838162010-03-15T08:56:00.011-04:002010-03-15T10:52:26.871-04:00The other side of Germany<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">This weekend I had the (un)fortunate opportunity to visit Dachau, the Nazis' first concentration camp, located near Munich, in south-eastern Germany, about a 6-hour train trip from Berlin. It was a freezing, gray day, which suited the visit just fine. As I was told before I went, it's worse in person than you can even imagine. They have made a GREAT museum in the main building. For more information, and pictures from the camp, go to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dachau_concentration_camp">wikipedia</a>'s entry on Dachau.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaMH7LO_SlfNxFElAm5N69kzhvA4aDZb3VT1lk4rbhPnjTxs_l0NMOgw1bluiLin31-_AyohCABOGAdLzo16oAYCcIBfP75P3VT7VuAdEaFfOMKwCT9Ls-3GsAc_xLbO7lpjwmCCEiLc/s1600-h/IMG_6969.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaMH7LO_SlfNxFElAm5N69kzhvA4aDZb3VT1lk4rbhPnjTxs_l0NMOgw1bluiLin31-_AyohCABOGAdLzo16oAYCcIBfP75P3VT7VuAdEaFfOMKwCT9Ls-3GsAc_xLbO7lpjwmCCEiLc/s320/IMG_6969.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448844697453689090" border="0" /></a>The entrance - "Work makes you free"<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMoQn8sR6x5UTL-elPzI_TZxJJfUXXhVx8txqSEKkTXYuRnrchpQVz9JSLjHhHfoG3-OkNpG5tBIWpi2b1QAj9sRu6ZWKR8b1TTEXeI7fODBNdjS63XOzr7mi160Hs8qDg1TAreAfJBI/s1600-h/IMG_7005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMoQn8sR6x5UTL-elPzI_TZxJJfUXXhVx8txqSEKkTXYuRnrchpQVz9JSLjHhHfoG3-OkNpG5tBIWpi2b1QAj9sRu6ZWKR8b1TTEXeI7fODBNdjS63XOzr7mi160Hs8qDg1TAreAfJBI/s320/IMG_7005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448850398602130962" border="0" /></a>View of where the barracks once stood (they've all since been destroyed, but two have been rebuilt as part of the memorial and museum), from near the crematorium. (I'm not posting pictures of the crematorium or the "oven," they're too creepy and gross.)<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jrSyQnznqUfPH-oYY58_R2RMzNMVCarRcbHUSFmGhWd8u2YDnrXbas6jDCioS1iJVdHtHupTTq_mu7Fjbf6EzBRgd1z181occ6F7-4Svy-QegK8hcZ_aulEJpFMCdouk-2fI8EL29vs/s1600-h/IMG_6978_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jrSyQnznqUfPH-oYY58_R2RMzNMVCarRcbHUSFmGhWd8u2YDnrXbas6jDCioS1iJVdHtHupTTq_mu7Fjbf6EzBRgd1z181occ6F7-4Svy-QegK8hcZ_aulEJpFMCdouk-2fI8EL29vs/s400/IMG_6978_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448848130722796482" border="0" /></a>Statue outside the main building. The English says (it's a big inscription, but hard to make out in the picture): "May the example of those who were exterminated here between 1933-1945 because they resisted Nazism help to unite the living for the defense of peace and freedom and in respect for their fellow men."<br /></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-1740534954998318612010-03-07T13:28:00.008-05:002010-03-15T10:52:46.612-04:00The story of how I went to the opera wearing purple cowboy boots (and other adventures)Greetings from frigid Germany! (Note to Germans: it doesn’t matter how many times you tell me “this is the coldest winter we’ve ever had!” or, “Normally it’s spring by now!,” it doesn’t make me feel better about the weather, or make me not wish I’d brought my down coat. Thanks.) Anyhoo, thought I’d write a short update of my travels up to now. I now know a tiny bit of German, and that tiny bit includes phrases like, “My hobby is rollerskating,” and “Klaus-Otto is married,” and does <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> include useful phrases like, “I’d like a small coffee with milk please.” Ah, well, it’s nice to know beginning language courses are the same throughout the world. :) I spent my weekend going to operas (they’re already in German, yet they put up German supertitles; I guess I never appreciated the Met’s individual screens where you can choose your own language until now) and going to Leipzig. Leipzig is a city about an hour and fifteen minutes from Berlin by train, famous for being the home of, at one time or another, Mendelssohn, Mahler, Schumann, Wagner, and Bach, who conducted the choir of the St. Thomas church for almost 30 years; as well as a pretty interesting role in the reunification of Germany. Leipzig also, as I learned when I arrived, has adopted the wait-until-it-melts method of snow removal, which made my choice of weekend footwear (suede pumas, as there was no snow at all in Berlin when I left) particularly unfortunate, since I was soon up to my ankles in snow and slush. As it was too cold to walk around and take pictures, I went to a few museums, then heard a concert at Bach’s church, which was advertised as a concert, but actually was more of a service, with standing, praying, a sermon (literally the only words I understood were “snow” and “March,” but maybe that’s because I was subconciously listening for them), the Lord’s Prayer in German, etc. (which reminded me of the fact that one of the first phrases I learned in sign language was “In Jesus’s name we pray, amen.” For an atheist I seem to gravitate towards religion a lot.) The whole concert/sermon was quite lovely, but I felt a little bad about disrespecting Bach in his house of worship by having my shoes and socks off, but both were soaked and cold. Afterwards I was wandering around and noticed that the Leipzig opera was doing Lohengrin, and decided to get a student ticket; but decided I couldn’t spend 5 (five! Thanks, Wagner.) hours in an opera with freezing feet and soggy socks, so I decided to buy some new socks. BUT the shoe store was having a major winter boot sale, and they happened to have some kick-ass purple cowboy boots (that’s right) in my size, half off. They also had some practical, black, staid shoes, but why buy practical shoes when you can buy purple cowboy boots? (Note: sorry for knocking the usefulness of my German – the entire shoe-buying transaction was conducted with a sales clerk who spoke no English, which is good, right? Even though it was mostly numbers. But still!) So that’s how I ended up at the Leipzig opera, seeing Lohengrin in ratty jeans (sorry, older and distinguished Leipzig opera-goers, and sorry, mom, I know I should dress better) and the aforementioned purple cowboy boots. Which, now that I’m back in Berlin, you’d better believe I’m going to wear with panache. :)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHEmfiTpEfRnQoOQPLG1Z-_yNb0CLy4qdbqJd8R473WmzA4xO74WP8EqbaldzbbtRC0YiI2GXM4qFuZxSmRe2wnW_cFQZRg86gAhZ7a0oyoPaxaUV8rkxoqe97NNrTqHWNx3RzzYzeWQ/s1600-h/IMG_6879.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHEmfiTpEfRnQoOQPLG1Z-_yNb0CLy4qdbqJd8R473WmzA4xO74WP8EqbaldzbbtRC0YiI2GXM4qFuZxSmRe2wnW_cFQZRg86gAhZ7a0oyoPaxaUV8rkxoqe97NNrTqHWNx3RzzYzeWQ/s320/IMG_6879.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445991447207738450" border="0" /></a>Bach, presiding over his church<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbOQAtVOl0RyLragLb3bZRsVbY0oFVxAYs1cPN3XUVfyfPxqyclpPEucot_n3_9vLinC1O0rgBqn_yfbKvFmPbKp5XfW-yZ4a8F8RMRGgjf81QC0Pa8pGuDww713wo0uwp7oe3iRANHg/s1600-h/IMG_6922.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbOQAtVOl0RyLragLb3bZRsVbY0oFVxAYs1cPN3XUVfyfPxqyclpPEucot_n3_9vLinC1O0rgBqn_yfbKvFmPbKp5XfW-yZ4a8F8RMRGgjf81QC0Pa8pGuDww713wo0uwp7oe3iRANHg/s320/IMG_6922.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445990039649679618" border="0" /></a>A chandelier I liked in the opera house<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWffbDVVjmcMj_8fJSnMe_MmrThpFSmvlkjrLxwIwRM6SRnaWYxxiHd8bgbvrvANGj_50bM2kYYFVAZIaGxEb4R5Uo9597WIIGYouvMaZlDSbWmN6qj4JR5FNl0hXBJsESuClySmfuVBw/s1600-h/IMG_6897.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWffbDVVjmcMj_8fJSnMe_MmrThpFSmvlkjrLxwIwRM6SRnaWYxxiHd8bgbvrvANGj_50bM2kYYFVAZIaGxEb4R5Uo9597WIIGYouvMaZlDSbWmN6qj4JR5FNl0hXBJsESuClySmfuVBw/s320/IMG_6897.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445962994485313410" border="0" /></a>The organ inside the Thomaskirche<br /></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-41473000069739014212010-02-16T16:13:00.019-05:002010-02-16T18:39:36.763-05:00FAQ: Buruli ulcer<span style="font-size:100%;">Today's Global Health topic: Buruli ulcer. What’s that, you say? Never heard of it before? It’s OK, that’s why it’s one of the World Health Organization’s Neglected Tropical Diseases (more on that below). So consider this a public service announcement of sorts about Buruli ulcers.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Q: What is a Buruli ulcer? </span>(Warning: google image at your own risk)<br /><br />A: It’s an infection of skin, soft tissue, and bone that is caused by a bacteria called <span style="font-style: italic;">Mycobacterium Ulcerans</span>. Mycobacteria are a unique kind of bacteria, and cause other serious infections (<span style="font-style: italic;">M. tuberculosis</span> causes (surprise!) tuberculosis, and <span style="font-style: italic;">M. leprae</span> causes leprosy). It’s called a Buruli ulcer because of a large study done on it in Buruli, Uganda in the 1960’s.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Q: Can I get it?</span><br /><br />A: You can only get infected if you live in tropical wetlands. It’s most commonly found in Africa, but it can be found pretty much everywhere in the world if the climate’s right (It used to be called a Bairnsdale ulcer after Bairnsdale, Australia). No one’s sure how people get infected exactly, but at the moment it’s thought that you have to get bitten by a bug that carries the bacteria in its salivary glands. Yum.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Q: What’s it do to you?</span><br /><br />A: The bacteria get into your skin and make toxins that cause cell death (How fun! No other mycobacteria do this). Because the toxins also suppress your immune system, you don’t get any “normal” signs of skin infection, like fever, pain, redness, or swelling, because all these symptoms of infection are actually caused by your body’s normal response to invading bacteria. Because people can have little more than a tiny bump or dark spot on their skin, they ignore it, and the infection is allowed to spread and cause serious problems. Untreated, it can cause severe deformity (again, the google image warning), resulting in permanent disability (the most common site of infection is the legs) and death.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Q: How do you treat it?</span><br /><br />A: Antibiotics and surgery. Traditionally, surgery was the definitive treatment (to cut out all the dead tissue), but more recent studies show that if you diagnose the infection and start antibiotics early enough, they can cure nearly 100% of infections, with no need for surgery. But it’s a little tricky to diagnose it at an early stage, because there are no real symptoms that prompt people to seek medical attention, and there’s really no good diagnostic test for it, especially one that could practically be used in the rural, resource-poor areas where this infection is endemic.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Q: What’s a Neglected Tropical Disease (NTD)?</span><br /><br />A: The World Health Organization has made a list of diseases that affect a large number of people worldwide, with high morbidity and mortality, yet receive relatively little funding and attention. The NTD’s affect one billion people, and together cause 534,000 deaths per year. From the WHO’s website: “Those most affected are the poorest populations often living in remote, rural areas, urban slums or in conflict zones. With little political voice, neglected tropical diseases have a low profile and status in public health priorities.” NTD’s affect 1 in 6 people worldwide. To compare that number to a disease that gets more press time, 1 person in 1,762 has Mutiple Sclerosis. (Ever heard of trachoma? Eight million people are blind because of it. Filariasis? Chagas' disease?) See their <a href="http://www.who.int/neglected_diseases/en/">website</a> for more info.<br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijs7AJP4PBlaTRvLlcf1LCijEnX9wHfPU-v0gpTJaCHFjgmUeAi5TOAhFqsUBvDGZVGLbhci-UmqThwV5s6ukA3b82ZL4UAFmixsK5GdqDWJBhiGcGy0TXhdchXF4Dtq-l5z-OLjNAvqo/s1600-h/IMG_5920_1_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijs7AJP4PBlaTRvLlcf1LCijEnX9wHfPU-v0gpTJaCHFjgmUeAi5TOAhFqsUBvDGZVGLbhci-UmqThwV5s6ukA3b82ZL4UAFmixsK5GdqDWJBhiGcGy0TXhdchXF4Dtq-l5z-OLjNAvqo/s320/IMG_5920_1_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438988462963127026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Such a pretty lake, but potentially so deadly: Lac Zilé, near Lambaréné, Gabon.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >The story of Buruli ulcers in Lambaréné</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Although I was doing adult medicine (and BU mainly affects children), I became interested in BU because of the several children who literally lived in the surgery ward, where they were under long-term treatment for the ulcers. All patients at the hospital were cared for by a family member, who was responsible for cleaning, buying and cooking food, giving medications, and many of the jobs that nurses in the US do for patients (even including taking and charting temperatures). Because these kids were there so long-term, they could not have a family member stay with them, so they were essentially on their own. We befriended three of the girls in particular (their picture is in another post), whom I would sometimes sneak away after rounds to visit, or would come over to our house on the weekends.<br /><br />In the morning, one or two of the girls could be found sweeping the small stoop outside their rooms (all of the rooms opened into a main hallway inside, and had a door to the outside), or washing their sheets and spreading them out on the lawn to dry. I had difficulty picturing American tweens fending for themselves, cleaning their own hospital rooms, entertaining themselves, and finding their own food (even without one arm completely bandaged up). One evening after afternoon rounds, my attending and I passed the entire group of children, most of whom had Buruli ulcers, playing soccer on the large lawn between the surgery and ob/gyn wards. Most were running around, screeching and laughing and playing, enjoying the setting sun with their friends; only two boys sat watching from their wheelchairs, as neither had walked in several months due to surgical debridement for BU that spanned their legs from their hips to their toes. I was truly touched during the three months we knew the girls at how they created a normal childhood for themselves despite their disabling disease: constantly spending time together, choreographing dances to their favorite pop songs, and throwing birthday parties for their friends on the lawn outside the surgery ward.<br /><br />One afternoon I left the three girls on our porch, and came home to find my camera filled with literally hundreds of pictures they had taken of each other, capturing their adolescence in a way no photographer never could. Looking at these pictures now (I couldn’t bring myself to delete even one) makes my heart break. They are only a few years younger than, but a lifetime removed from, the many young women that would come into clinic with the outlines of their skeletons visible and CD4 counts in the single digits, who would die overnight or the next day from AIDS. So what’s happened to these three girls? They were all discharged within one week of each other in late July, and I only hope they have stayed healthy since then.</span><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CjReOPq1VAc&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CjReOPq1VAc&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-22740215532430296712010-02-03T20:56:00.003-05:002010-02-03T21:01:18.286-05:00Global HealthHello everyone, loyal followers of the sporadic postings of PaleBlueDotBlog,<br /><br />I'm currently taking a course in Global Health, and some of the topics are really really interesting. I didn't get a chance to post as often as I wanted to from Africa, so I'm going to try to post a few topics that come up in this course that I think are interesting. (Let's look at this as a chance to redeem myself for a dearth of postings from abroad about topics that would actually be fun [well, in my geeky opinion] to read about.) Hope everyone's good! :) <br /><br />-LPale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-58380433342442862762010-02-03T20:54:00.003-05:002010-02-03T21:03:58.054-05:00Q & A: Rheumatic Fever and Rheumatic Heart DiseaseQ: What are rheumatic fever and rheumatic heart disease? <span style=""> </span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: Rheumatic fever is a disease that can develop as a complication of strep throat.<span style=""> </span>It is rare in the US (for reasons discussed below), but is relatively common in the developing world.<span style=""> </span>Rheumatic heart disease is a long-term result of rheumatic fever (which sometimes you have to get multiple times) which can cause valve deficiencies, heart failure, and death. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Q: How do I know if I have it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: You don’t.<span style=""> </span>But symptoms occur several weeks after strep throat and can include fever, joint pain (without swelling), a heart murmur or heart failure, a rash, and involuntary movements.<span style=""> </span>Kids make up 80% of the cases, and adults 20%.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">[For people who have taken medical boards and theoretically should remember this stuff: the major (Jones) criteria for acute rheumatic fever are: 1. Migratory polyarthritis, 2. Carditis, 3. Subcutaneous nodules, 4. Erythema marginatum, and 5. Syndenham’s Chorea*.] </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Q: What causes it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: I’d like to just say, “strep throat,” but that’s oversimplifying things.<span style=""> </span>The most common cause of a throat infection (<i>pharyngitis</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, if you will) is a virus, but the reason doctors always stabbing kids’ throats with long Q-tips is that they are worried about “strep throat,” which is infection of the throat caused by the streptococci bacteria.<span style=""> </span>There are very very few strains of strep which can actually lead to Rheumatic Fever (and these are known as the </span><i>rheumatogenic </i><span style="font-style: normal;">strains).<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Q: So everyone who gets strep throat with one of these rheumatogenic strains of Strep develops Rheumatic Fever?<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: Nope, that would be too simple.<span style=""> </span>Rheumatic Fever comes about when someone’s body reacts (for unknown reasons) to the bacteria, causing the body to attack its own tissues (kind of like an auto-immune disease like lupus).<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Q: What is Rheumatic Fever vs Rheumatic Heart Disease?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: Nope.<span style=""> </span>Rheumatic heart disease is the long-term results of several bouts of (or a bad or long-term case of) rheumatic fever.<span style=""> </span>If you catch and treat rheumatic fever (with literally years of penicillin), it is possible to avoid the heart disease. Rheumatic heart disease is a huge problem in the developing world.<span style=""> </span>It is estimated that 15,000,000 children and young adults have rheumatic heart disease, and 230,000 die of it each year.<span style=""> </span>It is especially bad because once you develop the heart disease, the only treatment is a valve replacement.<span style=""> </span>As you can imagine, the majority of people who actually have rheumatic heart disease don’t have access to a cardiothoracic surgeon to pop in a new valve, as would be the case in the US.<span style=""> </span>Also, dying from heart failure is a drawn-out and painful process.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Q: Why don’t we have rheumatic heart disease in the US?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: One hundred years ago, rheumatic heart disease was the #1 killer of children and young adults in the US, and now the incidence is nearly 0%.<span style=""> </span>It would be nice to pat ourselves on the back about our great medical care and widespread use of penicillin in eradicating this deadly disease, but that’s not why it practically doesn’t exist here anymore.<span style=""> </span>For reasons that are unclear, the rheumatogenic strains of Strep have practically disappeared in the US, except when they recur sporadically in specific pockets of the country (like Western PA).<span style=""> </span>The incidence of rheumatic fever was already decreasing rapidly before we even started diagnosing it and treating it with penicillin.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Q: Does this mean we don’t have to test every single kid who has a sore throat for Strep?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 39.2pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span><!--[endif]-->A: Probably, but who wants to open that can of worms?<span style=""> </span>Also, why stop doing something you probably don’t have to be doing when it costs only a half a billion (that’s right, that’s a B) dollars per year?? </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">*The word chorea describes a disorder of abnormal, involuntary movements.<span style=""> </span><i>Chorea</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is a kind of ancient Greek dance (and also gives us the word </span><i>choreography</i><span style="font-style: normal;">).<span style=""> </span></span><i>Syndenham’s chorea</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is a term only used to describe the chorea of rheumatic fever (cause there are other kinds, like in patients with Huntington’s Disease).<span style=""> </span>The other term for it (cause why only have one term in medicine when you can have two or three for us to memorize) is </span><i>St. Vitus’ Dance</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, in reference to the “manic dancing that historically took place in front of [St. Vitus’] statue during the feast of Saint Vitus in Germanic and Latvian cultures.” (Thanks, Wikipedia!) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-58854544337370236042009-10-26T17:24:00.003-04:002009-10-26T17:33:09.630-04:00Bureaucracy: the medical student’s* constant companionOr, a crazy stream-of-consciousness rant about my morning:<br /><br />As a med school “super senior” who has done a fair share of away rotations, I have certainly seen a good amount of red tape, especially in my attempts to prove to away institutions that I am, in fact, vaccinated against mumps, OSHA-trained to safely dispose of needles, and insured against malpractice. But the bureaucracy I experienced this morning was, as my roommate put it, “a caricature of itself.” To briefly sum up the entertaining events of the morning: I started (rather, was supposed to start) a rotation today in toxicology at an unnamed hospital in the Midwest (I am applying for residency out here…can’t be too careful, ya know). After being unable to determine the exact date or time or location for anything this morning, despite multiple emails and calls to several people, I finally found a time and place to aim for. After waiting for ages in a boiling hot room of an ancient building with 40 other short white coats, we filled out some paperwork, then watched a video on proper needle-disposal and hand-washing practices (Really? Turn on the hot water? Ya don’t say), then attempted to get paperwork to get our ID’s (one of the only things I was told about the rotation I was starting was that I was not to show up without an ID). So I enter a very inefficient woman’s office (I already don’t like her…I recognize her name as one of the people who has never returned my phone calls), and am told to find my paperwork from a giant file cabinet, loaded with manila folders theoretically alphabetized by last name (welcome to 1954). She is flummoxed when I can’t find my paperwork. ‘What’s your last name? Are you sure you sent in your paperwork?’ Yes. Three weeks ago. ‘Are you sure it’s not in there?’ Yes. ‘What’s your last name?’ Rinse, repeat. She phones the administrator of my rotation, who…says she’s never heard of me. Despite the fact we’ve exchanged emails in the last week. Finally she admits she received my application. And although the papers themselves cannot be located, I have brought along an extra copy of all my immunization records. I am prepared! Yet I cannot get an ID because there is no list of all the negative TB tests I’ve had. I had a negative one in August (yay! No post-Africa TB for me) and records of one a year for the past 5 years (though with no listed results for the other ones). I explain that if my last one was negative, they’re all negative, because you can’t be positive and then negative. She says, “I know you’re trying to use logic, but I’m telling you I need this piece of paper.” Ah yes, silly me for using logic when I just need to produce a piece of paper. And here I thought the point of this was to show you I don’t have TB. Which I can do with this one paper I’m clutching in my clenched fist. But nevertheless, I understand it’s your job is to push paper, and you need this form. So the form gets faxed from my school’s student health department (good lord they are nice and helpful there), but all the while this is taking place, I am told to vacate my chair several times. Even when I’m not sitting in it (like when I’m in the hall pleading with the student health nurse to find my files, my bag and coat are still on it). But for some reason, this woman wants to have students lined up in a specific way: 1 at her desk, and 3 sitting in the chairs (which are not in a row) in her office. Nevermind that no students are actually lining up like this, they’re just entering her small office when the previous student leaves. And yet…she’s fixated on the fact that she needs her chair so students can sit in it while they’re lined up, even though no one is attempting to sit there. Eventually, just for entertainment purposes, I keep sneaking back in there and sitting in it while I’m waiting for my fax, just to see if she notices. Finally she accepts my vaccination sheet, and sends me off to get my ID. It’s OK that it’s 10:30 am and I was told to report to toxicology conference at 9am. Whatever. So I find my way to the ID badge office, and after telling the man working there I’m a student and handing over my paperwork, I am told, “A student? We’ve reached our quota for the day.” I look around. Quota? But there’s no one in here. There are three employees back there doing nothing. You’re telling me you can’t make me an ID? No, apparently there’s a “student quota” for ID’s which is usually met by 8:30am on a Monday. But, since an initial ‘no’ is rarely the final word, I am nice and persistent and smile and finally get my shiny new ID. (And I’m not even scowling in the photo). So, only two hours late, I start to make my way to toxicology conference. It’s in the Poison Control Center. I figure since no one answered my emails, I’ll just google the exact address and ask at the front desk. Seems simple, no? So I google it, it’s a block away, I go there and can’t find any doors where google maps tells me they’ll be (I know, I know, I should have learned by now not to trust google maps). So I call the administrator of the rotation to ask how to get there. “Oh, conference is at the poison control center downtown on Monday!” Of course, there are several poison control centers scattered around the city. Could NO ONE have mentioned this to me? Ok, deep breath. “And conference will be over soon anyway, so it’s not worth it to go over there.” Ok, that’s fine. I tell her I want to reach the program director to find out where and when I can meet her so I know what I should be doing for the rest of the day (since I can’t talk to her at conference like originally planned). I am told she’s in conference (duh) and won’t answer her phone, so I should send an email to this woman, who’ll forward it on (is anyone still following me here?? I’m confused just re-reading it, and I lived through it a few hours ago). I suggest I can just send the director an email directly, but the administrator would rather I send it to her, and she’ll forward it. Fine. So I hang up and send a one-line email about how to contact Dr. So-and-so. I wait. Five minutes later I get a response from the administrator (I am cutting and pasting this), “Did we speak or is this a recent e-mail. I thought we discussed that the conference was over at the poison control center downtown?” Um, what? I’m sending you an email because YOU TOLD ME TO SEND YOU AN EMAIL. And YES we just spoke it was 5 minutes ago!!! Ok, deep breath, calm response, saying I would like to reach the director I was supposed to be meeting at conference to see where I should go for the rest of the day. Five minutes later, another email, “They r done for the day. Conference is from 9:30 til 11:30. PLEASE CALL ME.” At this point I was beginning to think I was in some parallel universe TP'd in red tape, from which I was unable to escape. <br />Anyway, here’s hoping to a more efficient and well-organize day two…. ☺<br /><br />*I realize that bad bureaucracy happens to good people everywhere. I have just experienced 95% of my life's red tape in the past four years.Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-1711936168279050652009-10-26T17:20:00.001-04:002009-10-26T17:20:35.656-04:00WOW......I am the worst blog-updater ever. In my next life I'll be better at it, I swear.<br /><br />A picture, just to make this post a little longer:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_dF9t1Cxmoq03_d28Vc7_FufKm__1VaayYNwgRuXM_Qdy5A-DMbpk-PEr8EcurgLvWcDdJPEOABPV9veQXNPbNpeex4TJsXuaUQXy5VGdIB1Ct6Ll5iKAhQ10E-s6paKJBVWRW2Q5hY/s1600-h/063.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_dF9t1Cxmoq03_d28Vc7_FufKm__1VaayYNwgRuXM_Qdy5A-DMbpk-PEr8EcurgLvWcDdJPEOABPV9veQXNPbNpeex4TJsXuaUQXy5VGdIB1Ct6Ll5iKAhQ10E-s6paKJBVWRW2Q5hY/s320/063.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397020903334138770" border="0" /></a>Wow, that's an oldie. I promise to update more often. Well, I guess all I can promise is that I'll <span style="font-style: italic;">try</span> to anyway...Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-64802190413773787732009-07-14T16:48:00.007-04:002009-07-14T17:38:50.810-04:00The Hippo says Hello<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1aOwq1V2wfzxU-ozK3zXsW71eXOJ9yzXDrdIovjk2VBIbYQNBggniUauhPFN2nyS5EKGSfyTYNcpcURLsSiJdrZbbVQIdn8Aa1tt0WnjYBKw_pgn56D1bRHuCIdqKYDdcOIYrdlTH6ZA/s1600-h/IMG_6414.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1aOwq1V2wfzxU-ozK3zXsW71eXOJ9yzXDrdIovjk2VBIbYQNBggniUauhPFN2nyS5EKGSfyTYNcpcURLsSiJdrZbbVQIdn8Aa1tt0WnjYBKw_pgn56D1bRHuCIdqKYDdcOIYrdlTH6ZA/s320/IMG_6414.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358422402476696466" border="0" /></a>There he is. Yup, he's looking right at you.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFTw_3lAY0j1oavCJE1jXqxOzV-LHkoE44O1Tbenhc7O2ka1sQdUGiL2i2ctgJdw06MGiapmuqvlKoCkM4G661Eut8HXjgZW5EYsRjxaYn-gVVLBJkHlCC3O02KttBKpjRpb36aVp9S4/s1600-h/IMG_6422.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFTw_3lAY0j1oavCJE1jXqxOzV-LHkoE44O1Tbenhc7O2ka1sQdUGiL2i2ctgJdw06MGiapmuqvlKoCkM4G661Eut8HXjgZW5EYsRjxaYn-gVVLBJkHlCC3O02KttBKpjRpb36aVp9S4/s320/IMG_6422.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358431920588367090" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The view of some houses from the river trip. We took a boat down (up?) the Ogooué river, into a giant lake, picnicked on the shore, saw hippos (see above), played soccer, took pictures, and celebrated the end of our roommates' (see below) <span style="font-style: italic;">stage </span>(internship) at Schweitzer. <br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOWlthyPvzmql-4fq4jgZgiZ78E_8BOznuRfTVYs2tlBulLtauxFELsYPYpcRsHl-qa7jVporR1lIq7o2KA-K7N967YtbEIj_HHJiPqb4ZBr7C0UwkGm3IyvXdG8Q8tI2KFFOy_PaBqc/s1600-h/IMG_6274.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOWlthyPvzmql-4fq4jgZgiZ78E_8BOznuRfTVYs2tlBulLtauxFELsYPYpcRsHl-qa7jVporR1lIq7o2KA-K7N967YtbEIj_HHJiPqb4ZBr7C0UwkGm3IyvXdG8Q8tI2KFFOy_PaBqc/s320/IMG_6274.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358423946325186034" border="0" /></a>These are the triplets of the hospital. Not actually triplets, but they're all the same age, two have nearly identical names, they all lived (pretty much) on the same surgery ward, and they all have Buruli ulcers. I loved these girls so much, I will try to write a longer post about them. In this picture they are watching a video I took of them dancing on my bed. (No, they were dancing on the porch, but watching the video sitting on the bed. Goodness English is confusing.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHONkeNn7zmxeY4apBYx4EwEu1QAd3mePuCtvXBFSFAq2rb-qU63uMNN2Nw9Oulcak3E0CUL0KhZfpR1f4wDhCzHV0myVGLojEKihV_bsjQkaGQRTKarkAf0IubIdytunwCkfzFhGRCZA/s1600-h/IMG_6393.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHONkeNn7zmxeY4apBYx4EwEu1QAd3mePuCtvXBFSFAq2rb-qU63uMNN2Nw9Oulcak3E0CUL0KhZfpR1f4wDhCzHV0myVGLojEKihV_bsjQkaGQRTKarkAf0IubIdytunwCkfzFhGRCZA/s200/IMG_6393.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358426301022003474" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83GNlPKl6unA86SbrLmxsGULKad6NVeaKfBp1EK7noj7ru7hbi7gBS7crEmo92fvdTBCONn7C0oK29Rnktww_MWCpvYPOz3bOzEVp_NdcMkZUITPqimG1whSvHHgpCZRUxGb90iL2XTs/s1600-h/IMG_6395.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83GNlPKl6unA86SbrLmxsGULKad6NVeaKfBp1EK7noj7ru7hbi7gBS7crEmo92fvdTBCONn7C0oK29Rnktww_MWCpvYPOz3bOzEVp_NdcMkZUITPqimG1whSvHHgpCZRUxGb90iL2XTs/s200/IMG_6395.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358428648681552642" border="0" /></a>Two pictures I love of my roommates. L-R: me, the impossibly adorable Larry (girls get boys' names here), Narcisse, and Elizabeth A Point Sack.<br /></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-85796383307548430832009-06-16T16:25:00.007-04:002009-06-18T17:02:20.124-04:00new pictures<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbsuaIu9Jjujf_UHroG56MbDRqjI50wwFwjHj8A1wCz7fG-IAuZTUBWLY4KpZWWyF2zwPtkxCsHWpE11DbM4eRKc9gbeVdlTpm1jWwhpffC7N51ztybaz_JbAJL_7uj1HqKGOZJFf5Yo/s1600-h/IMG_6061.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbsuaIu9Jjujf_UHroG56MbDRqjI50wwFwjHj8A1wCz7fG-IAuZTUBWLY4KpZWWyF2zwPtkxCsHWpE11DbM4eRKc9gbeVdlTpm1jWwhpffC7N51ztybaz_JbAJL_7uj1HqKGOZJFf5Yo/s320/IMG_6061.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348774759883235970" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Some of the many birds' nests in the trees at the hospital. I just liked this picture.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeM1iNNBKJ8VTJ_pIbhXNAPyiuEKv6A-uVEbrubX66zhNk-fbVsKZT7SHreC4MHBTWLMekLSLvYexLU13Gafnujr0QDdS5NAhmqsY8X2s9LZfcOWk_bEQo4YtfHkkvAIoBMFRLjh4d5U/s1600-h/IMG_6034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeM1iNNBKJ8VTJ_pIbhXNAPyiuEKv6A-uVEbrubX66zhNk-fbVsKZT7SHreC4MHBTWLMekLSLvYexLU13Gafnujr0QDdS5NAhmqsY8X2s9LZfcOWk_bEQo4YtfHkkvAIoBMFRLjh4d5U/s320/IMG_6034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348029583761307090" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">One of the many posters hanging around the hospital about AIDS ("Everyone together against AIDS"). <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0bWNjv9hnSTasaNdB2DxrF48W3PE5DzzLSpl506MNSMGpFd-YKgJvdzYEUjb0iuTFwqx0V_noZo454JVLBy1krWuEFUiNVZdTeSfeyN-axj31dH0YP9yRP64doMY8Ykgd9dVjjkdb-g/s1600-h/IMGP0877_modifi%C3%A9-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0bWNjv9hnSTasaNdB2DxrF48W3PE5DzzLSpl506MNSMGpFd-YKgJvdzYEUjb0iuTFwqx0V_noZo454JVLBy1krWuEFUiNVZdTeSfeyN-axj31dH0YP9yRP64doMY8Ykgd9dVjjkdb-g/s320/IMGP0877_modifi%C3%A9-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348028164680957890" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">These roosters are <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">so stupid</span>. I thought roosters were supposed to crow at dawn. These roosters (and there are many of them, some mere feet from my head in the morning) crow at all times of day and night. We now dream of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">coq au vin</span>. <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">A haiku, courtesy of my roommate:<br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Oh, stupid rooster. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Crowing your virility</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">You're just a small cock</span> </div></div></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-86855048902581752112009-06-08T16:46:00.003-04:002009-06-08T16:56:34.182-04:00Yay! Gabon's making headlines!Oh wait, but not for anything good. Please see the wonderfully-written <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/09/world/africa/09bongo.html?_r=1&hp">nytimes</a> article on the recent developments here. In brief, the president of Gabon ("Africa's longest-entrenched autocrat") died this weekend. The government has responded by closing the airport and borders and imposing a curfew. But everything's just fine here, so please don't worry. We are far from the capital, which is where things usually go down anyway. Just wanted to write a quick note in case anyone was worried about me being in the middle of a politically-unstable central african nation. And now back to your regularly-scheduled programming. Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-83086175164460294202009-06-02T17:31:00.008-04:002009-06-03T17:24:28.419-04:00New Pictures<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfNukxy1qFAby97wXJg3Qs0IXcI1ZhZib5VNJ2_7Zv44N6f3yW_dt7UHx5sk8_zrQ97cf_UHVl3ACuAIFc320d5b7LgKUOGBhyphenhyphenbRLLzAP0M5bYeOVZRwGlblGPgwIzpVbyO3t59H38hk/s1600-h/IMG_0023.JPG"><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfNukxy1qFAby97wXJg3Qs0IXcI1ZhZib5VNJ2_7Zv44N6f3yW_dt7UHx5sk8_zrQ97cf_UHVl3ACuAIFc320d5b7LgKUOGBhyphenhyphenbRLLzAP0M5bYeOVZRwGlblGPgwIzpVbyO3t59H38hk/s320/IMG_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342852812897350898" border="0" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;">Welcome, indeed. :) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEire7IdAkLXQ46ZL1J-T5mwCX5g6hv7WL0J4z2ERDcVKOy7NwuIDzXwvnyAxeVQoUz1OD8Juqt4vqOPI8Ud49PbOj_GRkF9SI29m3TeNpJPmZlm4bTs7wQUAzZInZtPf8alpm6an-2iNNo/s1600-h/IMG_0060.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEire7IdAkLXQ46ZL1J-T5mwCX5g6hv7WL0J4z2ERDcVKOy7NwuIDzXwvnyAxeVQoUz1OD8Juqt4vqOPI8Ud49PbOj_GRkF9SI29m3TeNpJPmZlm4bTs7wQUAzZInZtPf8alpm6an-2iNNo/s320/IMG_0060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342849876617178194" border="0" /><br /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">This is the hospital, outside the Polyclinique, where I spend most of the day. This was taken on a particularly muggy morning, normally it's brilliantly sunny. The yellow building is one of the surgical wards, but they all kind of look like that. Those giant trucks are from the military hospital. A large brigade of soldiers descended last week with ophthalmologists and otolaryngologists and their mobile exam rooms and ORs (the above trucks) and saw patients from 7:30 am until midnight. People were sleeping overnight outside to have a place in line. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNgcanIaYHbisdpp5G74kczQWyTsPQI7WUpRz4602KyDxJQO3rNIzzVydcnpdndNRhxgoLZd218LRYoRikoTb5ACJnQPfeMcFh6csn_VSG6Z1oasEEHBMS6wyfgk1mD6pX7ubeY3GlnQ/s1600-h/IMG_5887.JPG"><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNgcanIaYHbisdpp5G74kczQWyTsPQI7WUpRz4602KyDxJQO3rNIzzVydcnpdndNRhxgoLZd218LRYoRikoTb5ACJnQPfeMcFh6csn_VSG6Z1oasEEHBMS6wyfgk1mD6pX7ubeY3GlnQ/s320/IMG_5887.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342846869472646610" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Typical hairstyle. Women are crazy about their hair here. Everyone has an elaborate weave or a wig. It's pretty awesome. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEsFhTCNqE4tyukC2bpKZnXVFaKZP4jhx18Ed7IZQvsEmktDeznnbBWOOKqRCM1184XjkLkpI3lAkUuSXMZXtowZleD_Pjy4UqgLelOb66zfYQGtuCMYaEu7h5pitoUFiz8WH254Fs4Lo/s1600-h/IMG_5805.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEsFhTCNqE4tyukC2bpKZnXVFaKZP4jhx18Ed7IZQvsEmktDeznnbBWOOKqRCM1184XjkLkpI3lAkUuSXMZXtowZleD_Pjy4UqgLelOb66zfYQGtuCMYaEu7h5pitoUFiz8WH254Fs4Lo/s320/IMG_5805.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342851912254642498" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">We went to a culture festival in Libreville this past weekend, and this is a picture from outside the Senate building, where there were a bunch of different dance groups from all over the country. It was pretty cool. :) (Gosh, I'm so eloquent this evening, eh?) </div><br /></div></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-52171308800805915342009-05-24T12:15:00.004-04:002009-05-24T12:21:26.902-04:00Dr. J- Rant Of The DayI work with a rather, uh, charismatic doctor here. He likes going off on rants about various subjects from time to time, that range from the incompetence of some staff to the living conditions of Chinese workers in Gabon. His chosen subject the other day was the state of medicine in Gabon. Which is: not good. The government has been unable (or unwilling) to pay its bills to the hospitals for quite some time, and the result is that all of the hospitals have been on strike since January. (Not this one, it’s funded mostly by international foundations.) So the result of the strike is that sick people are not getting medical care, then when they’re gravely ill, they come here (to the HAS: <span style="font-style: italic;">Hôpital Albert Schweitzer</span>), where often it’s too late (Dr. J-: "Do they think we're magicians?!"). The HAS has also been relatively overwhelmed with patients since the strike started: the maternity service has patients on mats on the floor, because they’re out of both beds and mattresses (“Patients are on the floor, four to a room! That is no way to treat people”). The medicine service sometimes keeps patients in maternity and surgery because there are no medicine beds left. It <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> frustrating that the government is unwilling to pay for medical care for its citizens, and it’s easy to place blame on any number of factors for the fact that people are suffering and dying of treatable diseases simply because there are no resources available to them, so his next statement caught me off guard: “And who is responsible for this?? We all are.”Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-90045999115003854282009-05-24T10:24:00.009-04:002009-05-24T11:37:01.535-04:00Weekend picturesWe spent the day yesterday going to see a old mission in Sindara, about a 1.5-hour drive from here, picnicked at a "waterfall," (really, rapids), then stopped at a swimming hole on the way home (N.B. ASF Boston: I didn't swim).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdKUbdcfYjbNtJTAFkFZVJktkrdvP4E8csANCg7WQxjTCHgb7oX7U6KYiSYnPeQgPUCDVjkJMGOU6F6mZND3rh3GeIRCfm6t96jLHvTuArIhG6lTMLE-L2zJQKd2mLcrGwvggvAjZlyw/s1600-h/IMG_5647_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdKUbdcfYjbNtJTAFkFZVJktkrdvP4E8csANCg7WQxjTCHgb7oX7U6KYiSYnPeQgPUCDVjkJMGOU6F6mZND3rh3GeIRCfm6t96jLHvTuArIhG6lTMLE-L2zJQKd2mLcrGwvggvAjZlyw/s320/IMG_5647_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339399467822600114" border="0" /></a>Good thing we were in a 4x4.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdKUbdcfYjbNtJTAFkFZVJktkrdvP4E8csANCg7WQxjTCHgb7oX7U6KYiSYnPeQgPUCDVjkJMGOU6F6mZND3rh3GeIRCfm6t96jLHvTuArIhG6lTMLE-L2zJQKd2mLcrGwvggvAjZlyw/s1600-h/IMG_5647_1.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGZrXC_VnmkPqVDZnzwUQGVwql6Z3VuPS_liIcPbc_H-EBIHcvzkXvAbIIj2LUi7eTZr_YI3w7PhirPW6T19zM7h7RS67zREh2B3Nd_VtgvA-XJVFnaUjVLPFIl1DkkSHHF50DfRQoGI/s1600-h/IMG_5715.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGZrXC_VnmkPqVDZnzwUQGVwql6Z3VuPS_liIcPbc_H-EBIHcvzkXvAbIIj2LUi7eTZr_YI3w7PhirPW6T19zM7h7RS67zREh2B3Nd_VtgvA-XJVFnaUjVLPFIl1DkkSHHF50DfRQoGI/s320/IMG_5715.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339401242993251202" border="0" /></a>View from inside the chapel at the Mission at <a href="http://www.sindara.com/">Sindara</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4yivENbgTqJ7m_436f8lr6nkHY1eK-8fbq0N7dGxz4g8XEPa3jvFbpxtfhWtmUtihsSKz17_31qpOTbHH602rJ2OXx4m9ONaJg1Ms9QKeq9rGq1vKZcavMRlWWLxaIAkXtSU-JVSjEE/s1600-h/IMG_5747.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4yivENbgTqJ7m_436f8lr6nkHY1eK-8fbq0N7dGxz4g8XEPa3jvFbpxtfhWtmUtihsSKz17_31qpOTbHH602rJ2OXx4m9ONaJg1Ms9QKeq9rGq1vKZcavMRlWWLxaIAkXtSU-JVSjEE/s320/IMG_5747.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339403670264646386" border="0" /></a>Yes! Just like the real ones.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_BqzeFmL7tbpFuvAR_TcP7FR3mtoXuw59xMDd0_C8SQ4yPLWnLLFI7HMJVm9JUCUyWStWVO8gdQuwgrVqJ6BidF6ZDhgOXuTjFTDPuKo_kRBYprjLae76rFuZi04fww4Pv4J3D-cJHE/s1600-h/IMG_5752.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_BqzeFmL7tbpFuvAR_TcP7FR3mtoXuw59xMDd0_C8SQ4yPLWnLLFI7HMJVm9JUCUyWStWVO8gdQuwgrVqJ6BidF6ZDhgOXuTjFTDPuKo_kRBYprjLae76rFuZi04fww4Pv4J3D-cJHE/s320/IMG_5752.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339409794527894178" border="0" /></a>The swimming hole where we got attacked by the <span style="font-style: italic;">fouroux</span>, tiny insects (so tiny you can barely tell they're not specs of dirt on your arm) that are not, to my great distress, deterred by any amount of DEET. <br /></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-84204192998063212622009-05-24T10:00:00.001-04:002009-05-24T12:03:34.466-04:00What is it exactly that you DO do?(those able to identify this quote win a travel-sized bottle of DEET) <br /><br />So…what <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> I actually do here? Ok, a brief rundown of the day, if you’re interested:<br />1. Get up, thrash out of mosquito netting<br />2. Wait for shower (four people who all start work at the same time share one bathroom)<br />3. Have cereal (fake cornflakes…that’s all we’ve been able to locate) and instant coffee out on the porch (heaven…I’m telling you)<br />4. Go to the medicine ward, or the Kopp, as it’s known, which is maybe a 5 minute walk from here, depending on how hot it is outside, to start rounds at 7:30. (Actually on Wednesdays and Fridays there’s a grand rounds type of meeting/presentation, where someone presents a topic or case to the staff, which starts at 7:30, so then rounds are after that.)<br />5. Round with the team, which consists of two doctors, 1-3 nurses, and me. There’s a little cart that we drag around that houses all the charts (really, cards the size of half a sheet of paper in plastic covers that have seen better days) and order sheets (for labs and x-rays and such) and a bottle of alcohol for hand washing and a trash bin and even a little vase of plastic pink and flowers. Next to every bed there’s a wooden board hanging on the wall with a spreadsheet that includes the patient’s vital signs (with the temperature graphed, so you can see its trend with a quick glance) and medications. It’s so simple. Patients get taken care of, medications get ordered and given, vital signs get taken and recorded, and there’s none of the triplicate record keeping that keeps rounds at home dragging on till 1pm. <br />6. Off to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Polyclinique</span>, which is a giant waiting room with small exam rooms off of it. It is normally anywhere from 90-110 degrees in the waiting room, but, blissfully, the exam rooms have window air conditioners. See patients until noon or 1.<br />7. Have lunch from 12-1, then a break from 1-2:30<br />8. See patients from 2:30 to anywhere from 3:30 to 5:30, basically until they’re all seen. (Top reasons for coming seem to be: hypertension, AIDS, fever and headache and/or body aches [treated as malaria, even if the blood test for malaria is negative], and tuberculosis)<br />9. Go back to the Kopp, where it is now approximately 95 degrees after the day’s sunlight has run its course, and record all the lab values that came back during the day, as well as see any new patients who were admitted. <br />10. Either do yoga, or run, or sit in a tired and hot heap on the chair in my room directly under the fan. <br />11. Dinner is at 7 exactly. If you’re not done by 8 there’s a stern talking-to from the ladies who work in the dining hall (who are, I must add, all very nice). <br />12. Putter around until bed, either watching <span style="font-style: italic;">30 Rock</span> (a favorite pasttime around here), or going to the lab to use the internet, or going to the nearest town to have a beer, or removing large bugs from one’s room, or duct-taping the screens down, or hand-washing clothes, or…you get the idea…there’s always stuff to do. <br />13. Go to bed, rinse, repeat…Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-684784250719018242009-05-12T13:41:00.006-04:002009-05-13T13:17:26.642-04:00Some pictures<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByJt_fcW8977nZlpL-Buo0I7LmnRTEsRcwobSlSO_uZ7rHBoUiNIDJRCFlIEyy_1fLZpYn0BJyiJl6Ru1DabjpIq3LgDRcBpoQE40IvlBPhkWPSjI9s2d7DVgXmScMiH59MLgUxtxaeA/s1600-h/IMG_5445.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByJt_fcW8977nZlpL-Buo0I7LmnRTEsRcwobSlSO_uZ7rHBoUiNIDJRCFlIEyy_1fLZpYn0BJyiJl6Ru1DabjpIq3LgDRcBpoQE40IvlBPhkWPSjI9s2d7DVgXmScMiH59MLgUxtxaeA/s320/IMG_5445.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335356530057152114" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The view from the porch</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7k4b7iXqH8lG0rMI0eNyo3PEqsey14rqpzoatQD_Y-vuqEqHF1l_pza3cu6Fb2JiPE2ilFumCK_gD7vGRaK1t-ERS39tWWTH78PjMzymnTOBSsSQgXbvWcAaku9lpDgWzYM-snRHsjFc/s1600-h/IMG_5438.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7k4b7iXqH8lG0rMI0eNyo3PEqsey14rqpzoatQD_Y-vuqEqHF1l_pza3cu6Fb2JiPE2ilFumCK_gD7vGRaK1t-ERS39tWWTH78PjMzymnTOBSsSQgXbvWcAaku9lpDgWzYM-snRHsjFc/s320/IMG_5438.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334997857573035186" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My beautiful roo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">m</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;">N.B.: It takes literally an hour (or more) to upload <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">one</span> photo, so pictures are going to be few and far between...sorry. :( </span></div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-44055698318356548212009-05-12T08:30:00.003-04:002009-05-13T13:18:52.262-04:00Things I've learned this week...<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">1. There is an entire </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">country</span></i></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> off the coast of Gabon.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It’s called São Tomé and Príncipe, and it’s the second-smalled country in Africa (after the Seychelles).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It’s an archipelago of 12 or so islands, the two largest being São Tomé and Príncipe.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">According to my guidebook (the only one ever published on Gabon, as far as I can tell), the islands were formed from volcanoes, and were unsettled when the Portuguese came in 1470.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">All the islands comprise 386 square miles and have about 165,000 people, and they speak Portuguese.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">2. There are a lot of Chinese people in Gabon.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">According to an article from the </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/22/world/africa/22gabon.html?scp=3&sq=gabon&st=cse"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">nytimes</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, Gabon is running out of oil, and to compensate for its lost income it’s allowing Chinese logging companies into protected forest.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not good.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But anyway, the hospital has anywhere from 3-6 Chinese men out of 26 beds, all with malaria, none speaking any French.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There’s a lot of charades going on on rounding.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">3. There are many things I like so far about Africa, but hand-washing, line-drying, and then ironing all my clothes (botflies get killed by the heat) isn’t one of them.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I think I’m going to take my chances and put most of my clothes in the hospital’s industrial-sized washers (with notoriously hot water).</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">AH! A bug just fell </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">down</span></i></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> my shirt.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ok, zen with the bugs, zen with the bugs, zen with the bugs…</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:13.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-3346414719152190252009-05-10T05:33:00.004-04:002009-05-10T06:15:18.462-04:00Buggin' outSo I've been sitting here for about 45 minutes, trying to be ok with the ants. Because it's Sunday, the research lab where we use the wireless is locked, which is how I find myself sitting on the back walkway using the computer, and trying to be ok with the ants. They are everywhere. They're not the little annoying ones that walk in organized lines by the billion (I can't even describe this, it's so amazing, I'll try to take a picture), they're the bigger black ones. They keep trying to invade my space. I keep shooing them away with (HAR) my shoe. If they get too close I brush them off the balcony to the grass below. I haven't killed one yet, though I think one or two haven't made it off the balcony injury-free. There are too many to try to kill them all anyway, and I think killing animals on the grounds of the Schweitzer hospital is kind frowned upon by Schweitzer himself wherever he is. You know, Reverence for Life and all that. Then I decided to scoot up a bit and give them a little path behind me, so they could still hug the wall and get from one side of me to another (I was leaning against the wall), and I think we've worked out a mutually beneficial situation. I don't have to spend half my time brushing ants away, and they can still go about getting breakfast, or going to ant church, or whatever it is they do on Sunday morning. Letting them mill about so close to me is doing nothing for my near-constant feeling that bugs are crawling on me though. Then I think I'm just paranoid or crazy, but then end up with zillions of bug bites all over (and in clothing-covered places). I have even found spiders biting me. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Spiders</span>. I should just stop trying to fight the bugs. There are way more of them anyway, and they can't kill me. I'm going to try to be more zen about them, and just live and let live. I'm probably scarier to them they they are to me, right? I'll just keep putting hydrocortisone on giant itchy red spots and tuck my mosquito netting in real tight at night. Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-47001216630662448682009-05-06T16:13:00.006-04:002009-05-06T16:37:51.157-04:00Week 1: And so it begins<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thus begins our rotations here in Lambaréné.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am doing adult medicine, and the other American medical student (also a white girl named Elizabeth, to maximize confusion) is doing pediatrics.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This week so far I’ve been in the inpatient wards in the morning (rounding on 26 patients in as many minutes) and the clinic in the late morning and afternoon (today: 2:30 to 4:30, hardly the schedule we're used to keeping at home, though it </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">is</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> oppressively hot, effectively limiting how many hours one can actually work during the day).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">On my current to-do list: 1. Learn French, 2. Learn medicine, 3. Learn to understand Gabonese French, 4. Learn names of medicines in French (Esidrex?? Never heard of it.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oh, wait, it’s hydrochlorothiazide?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Riiiight, I have heard of that).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor I was working with actually </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">left</span></i></span><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to go get something yesterday and said, “Ok, you can see this next patient while I’m gone,” and I was like, ummmmmm thanksbutnothanks.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It takes me 10 minutes just to read the notes from their previous visit, because they’re all in illegible French with abbreviations I can’t figure out.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oy.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Adventure!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ç</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">a va aller...at least I hope.) :) </span></span></span></span></span></p><!--StartFragment--><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I’m already a little bummed out (for lack of a more eloquent phrase) by the sick people.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not that sick people in the US don’t bum me out, because they do, but I’ve already seen a few people this week who are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">sick</span></i></span><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Like, I look at them and wonder how it is they’re even still alive.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I saw literally </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">the</span></i></span><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> most cachectic girl I have ever seen in my life yesterday.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She was 22 and weighed maybe 65 pounds.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Good lord.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">AIDS is a scary thing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> She'd been sick for a year but hadn't come to the hospital until now. I just think of millions of dollars being spent in the US chasing incidentalomas <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(translation for non-medical people: incidentalomas are little shadows and blips that are discovered incidentally on CT's and MRI's done for other things, and usually turn out to be absolutely nothing) </span>and it makes me crazy. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ok, off to bed. Under my recently re-strung mosquito netting. Now hopefully it won't fall on my face in the middle of the night, causing me to brush it off my face in a panic cause my half-asleep brain is concerned it's an ant colony, or a hungry mosquito family, or a bat. Or a spider the size of a yorkshire terrier that we calmly (ahem) removed from my roommate's room the other day. (Picture to follow)</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-9439983661003697862009-05-06T16:06:00.004-04:002009-05-06T16:08:42.779-04:00La Petite Union Européenne<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is a very interesting place, for reasons I didn’t expect.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dinner every night is a veritable melting pot of nations.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Some of the faces around the table: A couple from the Ukraine (internist and surgeon), a nurse from Switzerland (the German-speaking part), a man from Switzerland (the French-speaking part), a nurse from Spain (who retired from a career as a lawyer and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">then</span></i></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> became a nurse), two Gabonese students, and a doctor from France (who is on sabbatical from a 20-year career as an internist in the French Antilles and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">drove here from France</span></i></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">On the way back from dinner the other night in town, we were piled into the back of a big van, and we picked up a German student on the way, and suddenly everyone in the back (except the Americans) started speaking German.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(As Other Elizabeth said, “This conversation has taken a turn for the German.”)</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I kind of enjoy conversing with someone when neither of your first languages is the one you’re speaking in.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There’s no self-consciousness about grammar or pronunciation when the person you’re talking to probably won’t notice anyway.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-52329112003527444152009-05-03T09:09:00.006-04:002009-05-03T10:54:15.005-04:00First attempt at a video...<object width="320" height="265"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/A7v0zwIIw88&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/A7v0zwIIw88&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"></embed></object><br /><br />Ok, ok...I know it doesn't play. This appears to be a youtube problem (a widespread one). I'll figure it out later. It's too hot to think right now.Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-49013658706807309742009-05-02T06:31:00.006-04:002009-05-03T05:12:40.157-04:00Finally in LambarénéWell, the day has arrived. After, oh, 10 or so years of wanting to go to Africa, here I am! I am a little oppressed by the heat to fully enjoy the moment, but I am pretty excited. (Oh god, I just checked and weather.com says it's only 89 degrees outside. Could this possibly be true? I would have bet it was 95.) Luckily, there's no lack of modern conveniences here, including a small library with air conditioning and wireless internet. So...so far it's kind of like home, except for the bats in the walls. Anyway, it's pretty exciting to say you're on a new continent; that doesn't happen often in life. <br /><div></div><div>So, this is not a place you'd pop over to for the week. To get here: a 6-hour flight from Boston to Paris (which landed at 12am Boston time, which was 6am Paris time, and I was very confused by the loss of the night. I mean, you can wake me up at 11pm and serve me coffee and orange juice for breakfast, but that doesn't make my body believe that it's really morning), then a 5-hour wait in the airport (with totally uncomfortable chairs not conducive to napping), then another 6-hour flight to Libreville, Gabon. Then waiting in lines in the airport, then a stay overnight in an airport hotel (it was 6pm by now), then a 4.5-hour drive from Libreville to Lambarene (see car below) the next day. Which included one exciting stop: the equator! We stopped at the sign (also see below) and I stepped across it, my first time entering the southern hemisphere. Yay! Then we finally arrived in Lambarene around 1pm. See photo of the welcoming committee below. Yesterday was a holiday, so there was a party going on, but we were too exhausted to go, we just unpacked and napped. And tried to figure out things like: how to hang mosquito netting, where the toilet seat went, how to prevent the bats from getting into the bathroom, why the towels are the size of hand towels, where to find dinner, etc. It was all very taxing on my jet-lagged and tired brain. </div><div></div><div>When I have more energy and my computer has more battery life, I will post more. I know you're all on the edge of your collective seat. :) </div><div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyB9U2Z8UyilRst8ltdoCIN1E8e5NkIPcMJeWVdTbHN-sObI0EwqpQluQyqWlyDtoUGM9nvwC56wzTkjOTONhXtiCPvRgHn9y8frx3jksHEDUn5pSCsWvlnf4ScIoWNINeY7UUkn755fc/s1600-h/IMG_5406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyB9U2Z8UyilRst8ltdoCIN1E8e5NkIPcMJeWVdTbHN-sObI0EwqpQluQyqWlyDtoUGM9nvwC56wzTkjOTONhXtiCPvRgHn9y8frx3jksHEDUn5pSCsWvlnf4ScIoWNINeY7UUkn755fc/s320/IMG_5406.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Stopping on the way to Lambarene</div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbq_nEmVynWrsQycp36v_Jq1cQUKIG8ZFtJMrq_3Uq74fjXxRcSPTzjwyhW3ocnb2exIzChN37hyphenhyphenhARencfm3ua1e2N3lFXepKIHx_lfp77dR3_EQ0L_9U_g6s1jp5YFXuXAIqSQBsLM/s1600-h/IMG_5411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbq_nEmVynWrsQycp36v_Jq1cQUKIG8ZFtJMrq_3Uq74fjXxRcSPTzjwyhW3ocnb2exIzChN37hyphenhyphenhARencfm3ua1e2N3lFXepKIHx_lfp77dR3_EQ0L_9U_g6s1jp5YFXuXAIqSQBsLM/s320/IMG_5411.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Really white girl on the equator<br /><br /></div></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgbyr6TIn-UBCBif9W7pDranzLeYkFf7ebQeMWeSUhiHZfxNr1UugmfQUZg_0lZKQAajaUXK3uRl5x5BDiTYWUhOdZpwYRkvH7yD8PaoFrc0JypcXnPmp4gfeiAIkECEPb5EhQjLvO3A/s1600-h/IMG_5415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgbyr6TIn-UBCBif9W7pDranzLeYkFf7ebQeMWeSUhiHZfxNr1UugmfQUZg_0lZKQAajaUXK3uRl5x5BDiTYWUhOdZpwYRkvH7yD8PaoFrc0JypcXnPmp4gfeiAIkECEPb5EhQjLvO3A/s320/IMG_5415.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Part of the welcoming committee at the hospital</div><div style="text-align: center;">(A pelican, the hospital mascot)</div><div style="text-align: center;">(Why don't US hospitals have mascots? Discuss.)</div>Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-25647877544303419092009-03-20T18:00:00.003-04:002009-03-20T18:14:21.713-04:00I AM ACTUALLY ALIVE: Life updates, Musings, etcSo, I haven't lost the URL of this blog, nor forgotten it exists, I've just...I dunno...been lazy. There, I said it. No feeble excuses about being "busy," cause I've found time since the last post to watch 3 seasons of <span style="font-style: italic;">Alias</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">30 rock</span>. I have been doing real rotations for the last 4 months, like M-F 9-5 (or 8-6) ones, except this month, which is more hours and days per week than I care to count up. I wrote some posts in the last couple months but never actually edited them and posted them, so maybe I'll do that eventually. Now, though, many exciting things are happening! It is, of course, the vernal equinox, which would be easier to understand if it weren't 40 degrees out and 30 in my apartment. And yesterday was Match Day! NECN was at our school, and you can watch the clip <a href="http://multimedia.boston.com/tn/1/featured_videos.htm?bctid=16988430001">here</a> if you weren't lucky enough to be there. :) People have matched to all sorts of exciting places, and my classmates will soon be (gasp!) residents. And as if welcoming all the fourth-year-med-students-and-soon-to-be-interns back to the hospital today (we had yesterday off...it's kind of a national holiday in the world of medical education), my resident greeted me looking like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopjlphejs2DM25_uLF6Qgd5EbNMf7x0Z0Kl69aTY8ix9cSDW_m0tri9OvMFW6rtyYCleGG_-tmqLxT2hFRt__MBfqLrw_tbsyFItGDqw0SX7pgcPojzeklbuNGtS5tNUc6QkJaSeE2YQ/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopjlphejs2DM25_uLF6Qgd5EbNMf7x0Z0Kl69aTY8ix9cSDW_m0tri9OvMFW6rtyYCleGG_-tmqLxT2hFRt__MBfqLrw_tbsyFItGDqw0SX7pgcPojzeklbuNGtS5tNUc6QkJaSeE2YQ/s320/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315395535103136738" border="0" /></a>It's like she was saying, "Congratulations on the Match! Soon you will look like this. Make sure your scrub pants are tied real tight." (In case you're wondering, L-R: personal [hospital] pager, stroke pager [stroke intern off today], code pager, pre-pre call [i.e. back-up admission] pager, PDA.) Oy. I'm glad I'm putting of graduation and internship for another year. :)Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6290099394583086319.post-8286596005659212032008-12-02T13:41:00.005-05:002008-12-02T14:04:07.014-05:00What's your personality?A topic that I've found a renewed interest in recently is differences in personalities. It started with talking to someone recently about the <a href="http://www.myersbriggs.org/">Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator</a>, which basically puts people into one of 16 personality categories. You're supposed to take the "official" test, which you can learn how to do <a href="http://www.myersbriggs.org/my%2Dmbti%2Dpersonality%2Dtype/take%2Dthe%2Dmbti%2Dinstrument/">here</a>. There are also a few fake online ones floating around out there. (For what it's worth, I've taken both with the same result.) Basically, there are 16 Myers-Briggs types, because there are two "preferences" for each of the four categories they measure personality with. The four categories are favorite world (introversion or extraversion), how you get information (sensing or intuiting), how you make decisions (thinking or feeling), and how you deal with the outside world (judging or perceiving). For example, your personality could be ENTP, for extraversion, intuiting, thinking, and perceiving. (My personality is, to no surprise to anyone who knows me, INTJ.) I sort of like this kind of qualitative measure of personality, because it's quite non-judgmental, and forgives us for being different (for example, I can't feel guilty about not wanting to socialize for hours at parties; now I can think that it's not a character flaw, being introverted is hard-wired into my personality). I also think that we are pretty much born with our personality, and it changes very little. (Which might explain why I was such a terror as a child, sorry mom and dad.) There are a couple websites where you can read about the different personality types, and from the people I know, the descriptions seem pretty accurate. <br />The second reason I was thinking about personality differences is because I am doing a psychiatry rotation, and I feel like there's often a very fuzzy line between personality and pathology; i.e. what some clinicians want label psychiatric disorders or personality disorders I sometimes have a hard time viewing as little more than differences in personality. I mean, where does the line between high-energy and hypomanic lie? There are, of course, real, quantifiable criteria for diagnosing, say, depression or generalized anxiety disorder, but people who fall on one side or the other of the diagnosis aren't radically different. I think we're all lying along a spectrum somewhere, and the idea of where personality differences end and pathology begins is an interesting one. <br />I highly recommend looking into the Myers-Briggs stuff, if you never have. It's very interesting, and might tell you something about yourself or how you interact with others that you never knew before. When I read about my personality for the first time, it definitely taught me something (and, alas, not all of the information was good ;) ).Pale Blue Dot Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05679089825757057408noreply@blogger.com1