Vacation and life decisions
I write this now as I wait for the sunrise from the northern corner of the deck that skirts the perimeter of an immodestly large rental house here on Kaua’i. Today looks as if it will be similar to yesterday, and all the days of this past week. I will eat and drink, grow dark and fat, listen to the birds and tune out the waves, run some and sit more, and forget about hospitals and patients and research and evals and duty hours and journal clubs and snow.
The biggest concern I had yesterday was a mosquito that absolutely torched me. Retrospectively I find this amusing, as it was the first time that I’d been bitten in the past few years and hadn’t wondered immediately thereafter if maybe I should have taken malaria prophylaxis. No, instead, once I had smooshed her (isn’t it a she? Somehow I remember thinking that it was only the female ones who suck blood. Or is that for spiders?) and smeared my own blood, the contents of her previously swollen abdomen, across my tanning forearm, I happily returned to my book, only to be bothered by the occasional itching of the chains of bite islands that I now wear as anklets.
I’m reading a couple books right now. Oh but first, I should alert you to a change. I’ve decided I want to be a hematologist. This in itself is not new. I’ve long been intrigued by the benign blood conditions, but acute leukemia truly frightens me. I’m falling off task, so I’ll write of it’s terrors another time. I’m reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, and The Emperor of All Maladies by Siddhartha Mukherjee, and Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton, a book that I truly can’t believe is over a century old. I may have mentioned before that I often choose the books I read by the recommendation of others or even if I see them as a reference in another work I enjoy; for instance, I remember seeing The Magic Mountain in one of my Murakami novels, probably Norwegian Wood, which wasn’t my favorite. I think it was also in Cancer Ward, by Solzhenitsyn, which is a favorite.
I’m trying now to think of what other books remain on my To-be-read (TBR) pile. Surprisingly, nothing comes immediately to mind, though I know there is a stack at home that begs otherwise. Oh, my semi-photographic memory returns; that stack has a work by Pynchon, the newest of the Song of Ice and Fire series, Dandelion Wine, Middlesex, and now I forget the rest. If any have other recommendations, your input is welcomed.