Saturday, April 22, 2006
Why here?
"Why have I come to San Francisco?"
One of our study subjects asked me this question. He, Shelly and I were sitting around exam room 2 at the end of the day Friday chatting in that way that twenty-somethings do. The conversation had turned to me and my expedation to the west coast. He asked this question I with a perplexed faced, or maybe it was inquisative. There appears to be little difference in some people.
I thought, "If this guy only knew what a deadend my life had become back in Vermont, at least with respect to my 'career'."
So I gave it some really thought. Deciding to depart from my normal shpeel and answered, "I needed experience."
I went on to talk about my aspirations of medical school, but my initial sentence was concise enough to say it all.
Turns out he was a graduate of Brown, majored in internation relations--some specialized political science degree I'm assuming-- and was headed to medical school himself.
My mind as returned to the answer I gave to this man: "I needed experience." The entire conversation wasn't quite that abbreviated, however that was the truest sentence I've uttered in months, the first time I've felt like myself in months.
THAT is why I've come here. I've come here to ride my bike in traffic. I've come to take public transportation and sit along side the homeless, the poor, the uneducated. To see the rich, the vain, the self-obsessed, the plastic. I've landed to be judged, evaluated, accused, vindicated. I've arrived to be confused, scared, happy, sad, lonely, loved and astonished, to help and be helped. I am doing this for the experience.
By some beautiful divine course I landed a job at UCSF as a clinical research associate. It could have turned out drastically different, as I had accepted--hastily--a job in a cancer research laboratory. I would be doing essentially the same thing as I did back in Vermont. Nothing is quite the same out here and I was slightly depressed that the majority of my time will be spent doing the same tasks, the same work.
Dr. Petersen called the day after I had committed to the cancer research lab, having gotten my resume by way of some pushy mass e-mailing I had done. She explained that she was a principal investigator at the Pain Clinical Research Center at UCSF, and the lab was involved in various pain studies involving human subjects. "Wait", I thought, "HUMAN subjects." Amongst my complement of skills applicable to medical school, none were involved people in a medical setting. I suspected for a long while that I would be good with people because I enjoyed my retail jobs, of which I held an accumulated horde throughout high school. They always entailed helping not so knowledgeable individuals with purchases in electronics, luggage, plumbing products.
"I just accepted a position at a cancer research laboratory." I said with clear regret in my voice's timbre.
"Well, you want to go to medical school, right? I think clinical research is the clear choice for you. You'll need some medically related experience. Do you have any?"
"No. I've already committed to this position. I don't know if I feel right about ducking out of it."
"Well, you should think about coming in for an interview. If you are planning on applying to medical school, this would be an invaluable experience for you."
"Ok. I'll call you back either way. I'll just need sometime to think about it."
I slapped close my cell phone and spent the next five minutes pacing the floor of Bill's studio manically repeating "Shit, shit, shit, shit..."
What have I got to lose? The timing would be tricky. I was to start my new position asap and that would certainly interfere with any interview date I set. Do I piss off my new boss by pushing back my start date and go for this interview? Why wouldn't I? I called my parents and they reaffirmed my initially shaky resolution.
In true self-fashion and character, I'd forgotten to take down Dr. Petersen's contact information. After spending an hour on the UCSF website, I finally found her information.
An hour had passed since she called.
"This is Matt LeComte. You called about an hour ago. Yeah, when can I come in?"
I went for what turned into a day long interview. I got the job.
It's been one-hundred and one days since then. History and writing are not exactly human nature just yet. It is not COMPLETELY natural for us to count and record the days with such dedication and precision. It takes energy and diligence that few possess. And if this is all untrue, if my hypothesis is groundless, then I've just got more hunter-gather genes then I thought, cause I'm merely basing this on my self-observation. At any rate, I'm glad I at lease have the ability to share all this, if not as frequent as I'd like.
One of our study subjects asked me this question. He, Shelly and I were sitting around exam room 2 at the end of the day Friday chatting in that way that twenty-somethings do. The conversation had turned to me and my expedation to the west coast. He asked this question I with a perplexed faced, or maybe it was inquisative. There appears to be little difference in some people.
I thought, "If this guy only knew what a deadend my life had become back in Vermont, at least with respect to my 'career'."
So I gave it some really thought. Deciding to depart from my normal shpeel and answered, "I needed experience."
I went on to talk about my aspirations of medical school, but my initial sentence was concise enough to say it all.
Turns out he was a graduate of Brown, majored in internation relations--some specialized political science degree I'm assuming-- and was headed to medical school himself.
My mind as returned to the answer I gave to this man: "I needed experience." The entire conversation wasn't quite that abbreviated, however that was the truest sentence I've uttered in months, the first time I've felt like myself in months.
THAT is why I've come here. I've come here to ride my bike in traffic. I've come to take public transportation and sit along side the homeless, the poor, the uneducated. To see the rich, the vain, the self-obsessed, the plastic. I've landed to be judged, evaluated, accused, vindicated. I've arrived to be confused, scared, happy, sad, lonely, loved and astonished, to help and be helped. I am doing this for the experience.
By some beautiful divine course I landed a job at UCSF as a clinical research associate. It could have turned out drastically different, as I had accepted--hastily--a job in a cancer research laboratory. I would be doing essentially the same thing as I did back in Vermont. Nothing is quite the same out here and I was slightly depressed that the majority of my time will be spent doing the same tasks, the same work.
Dr. Petersen called the day after I had committed to the cancer research lab, having gotten my resume by way of some pushy mass e-mailing I had done. She explained that she was a principal investigator at the Pain Clinical Research Center at UCSF, and the lab was involved in various pain studies involving human subjects. "Wait", I thought, "HUMAN subjects." Amongst my complement of skills applicable to medical school, none were involved people in a medical setting. I suspected for a long while that I would be good with people because I enjoyed my retail jobs, of which I held an accumulated horde throughout high school. They always entailed helping not so knowledgeable individuals with purchases in electronics, luggage, plumbing products.
"I just accepted a position at a cancer research laboratory." I said with clear regret in my voice's timbre.
"Well, you want to go to medical school, right? I think clinical research is the clear choice for you. You'll need some medically related experience. Do you have any?"
"No. I've already committed to this position. I don't know if I feel right about ducking out of it."
"Well, you should think about coming in for an interview. If you are planning on applying to medical school, this would be an invaluable experience for you."
"Ok. I'll call you back either way. I'll just need sometime to think about it."
I slapped close my cell phone and spent the next five minutes pacing the floor of Bill's studio manically repeating "Shit, shit, shit, shit..."
What have I got to lose? The timing would be tricky. I was to start my new position asap and that would certainly interfere with any interview date I set. Do I piss off my new boss by pushing back my start date and go for this interview? Why wouldn't I? I called my parents and they reaffirmed my initially shaky resolution.
In true self-fashion and character, I'd forgotten to take down Dr. Petersen's contact information. After spending an hour on the UCSF website, I finally found her information.
An hour had passed since she called.
"This is Matt LeComte. You called about an hour ago. Yeah, when can I come in?"
I went for what turned into a day long interview. I got the job.
It's been one-hundred and one days since then. History and writing are not exactly human nature just yet. It is not COMPLETELY natural for us to count and record the days with such dedication and precision. It takes energy and diligence that few possess. And if this is all untrue, if my hypothesis is groundless, then I've just got more hunter-gather genes then I thought, cause I'm merely basing this on my self-observation. At any rate, I'm glad I at lease have the ability to share all this, if not as frequent as I'd like.
# posted by Matt @ 12:23 PM 
