A whole year.

It'll be a year minus 6 days that I have written on this blog. You'll have to excuse this entry, as it has really nothing to do with most of the previous entries. I guess I'll call it a personal touch to a rather mundane collections of previous thoughts.
One year has passed. Much too long to for my head and my heart - because I feel like I might explode from several emotions that are flooding my body right now. I would explain the catalyst of this bizarre emotional roller coaster if I knew exactly what it was. Its terribly hard to really sum up a year. One blog entry for a whole year? I say it cant be done, but here I am.
To sum things up: I'm in mourning.
I'm not sure how long it will go on but I'm mourning the loss of several things, some of which are too painful to even try to express. My grandmother passed away. I have decided that the manner of her passing was particularly hard for someone who works in medicine, although I cannot say it was particularly harder on me than anyone else. Primarily, it was hard because I was helpless - and God forbid a medical professional be helpless. It seems to be ok when we are helpless with others medical problems, but when it comes to being helpless regarding a loved one, its particularly heinous. I'm certainly not the only one that was helpless in this situation. I cant help but thinking that if I was in charge of my grandmother's medical care, that she still might be with us. Its a silly regret, as I've frustratingly come to realize that it will be painful to let go of. I feel oddly responsible even though I believe my grandmother's fate, along with everyone else's, was sealed long ago.
My grandmother's death made me acutely aware that, in spite of my medical know-how, I'm poorly equipped to deal with personal loss and illness when it comes to my family. I'd probably lie to most people and profess that I'm more equipped than the average person to handle death, but I think I might be less able to. I'm not sure why this has surprised me, but I was blown off course so badly it was hard to continue on.
I am seeking refuge in this blog to help me move on. A blog is perfect for such a thing, because it just absorbs the energy of the writer. I have come to realize that when we write, there is an element of transference that occurs. I am actively seeking this because, if I dont, I think I might explode.
Along with the mourning of my grandmother, I am not sure if I have recovered from my other grandmother being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I dont think I could verbalize the the searing pain that is accompanied with the first time you hear that a loved one is diagnosed with cancer. Its a unique form of torture which could only have originate from the pits of hell, wherever that might be. I remember the frantic waves of panic that came over my body as I researched endlessly, grasping for things that didn't materialize. Retrospectively, its hard to imagine being told someone has cancer, and that someone has died and feel very differently. Of course there are differences, but the human psyche seems to process this the same. The scars of shock and pain seem fresh at times. Fortunately, my family - my ever-enduring family - held together. My grandmother's body miraculous mended after surgery, and again after chemo where we arrived to remission. I'm not sure if its hard for everyone to swallow the concept of remission, bit it was a bitter pill which did not pass easy for me.
Medically speaking, I would refer to this as the purgatory for all of medicine. A bitter word which implies that something is gone, but for an unknown amount of time. Its a bizarre place to exist because it hard to not assume the worst. With cancer, once the word is spoken, even though it might physically be gone, I feel like it takes root in our mind and comes out to torture us once in a while. Clearly, there has to be joy to recover and continue on when entering a time of remission. Yet, one cant help but be pessimistic facing the odds.
Thirdly, I'm mourning the general loss of my spirit for why I do medicine and the confusion I get when I can't for the life of my figure out where it went. I think I might have drowned it the minute I started doing it for money, or maybe I slowly starved it to death when I started resenting patients. Maybe it started after repeated abuse from patients and doctors or the abuse of power in our "fast food" oriented medical system. Wherever I lost my spirit along the way, I'm hoping it is holding on for something better.
I have noticed that I have started longing for the days of house calls and community oriented medicine. Where you helped someone in your community because they were sick. You helped them because they were your neighbors. I want to do medicine under those circumstances. I have grown weary of worrying about insurances, codes, deductibles, and eligibility. I have come to realize why people use the emergency room - because they get medical care regardless. No matter who you are, you get medical care.
This may be a bit idealistic because our capitalist system could never allow for such a thing but I will continue to hope for such a thing. I think these thoughts have come to mind in the wake of reading the The Hunger Games trilogy. A story which I'm still trying to figure out metaphorically and philosophically. I'm piecing together what it means to me and how it reflects our society today and I cant help but think that it speaks volumes of our society in its current condition - where we fight tooth and nail for materialistic things, no matter what we have to do for them. I think that I mourn this as well.
What I have to offer as far as hope is that we all mourn together, which I am desperately hoping will be enough. We each struggle through each day and we can continue on knowing that although we are separated into several different categories, niches and prejudices, we are still in it together - regardless of differences. Our joys and sorrows unite us. Panem et circenses.