Zombie attacks on a Tuesday afternoon

Yesterday I had the distinct privilege of teaching second-year medical students the pediatric physical exam. In a set-up that is as crazy as it sounds, there were 20-some exam rooms each staffed with a pediatric practitioner (+/- a 4th year medical student) and a child ranging in age from 6 months to 10 years (+/- their guardian). Teams of 5 medical students would rotate through the exam rooms, each seeing an infant/toddler and a school-aged child, practicing the physical exam and learning tips and tricks for that ever-elusive view of the tympanic membrane. We had four teams rotate through over the course of about 3 hours, meaning that each child was subjected to 20 exams--hey, we've all gotta learn somehow. God bless the parents who agreed to this!

I had an enthusiastic 10-year-old who was in his 4th year of this mad house. He spent more time standing on the exam table or jumping off of it than he did actually sitting down, but somehow we managed to get through the afternoon. The highlight for him was blowing snot at the students when they looked up his nose with the otoscope; so much so that in the final session, he managed to blow so hard that he gave himself a bloody nose, which promptly put an end to the nose exam. He also enjoyed pelting the students with spit balls and telling "Yo' mama" jokes. He lamented at the end, "Now I have to wait a whole year to do that again!"

Many of the students had never examined a child before. I had to remind myself of this as they all stared at me blankly when I said, "Go ahead." One student said, "How do I do the throat exam?" (Really?) I said, "I don't know, how do we do the throat exam?" and my "patient" grabbed the tongue depressor, mashed his tongue down and gave a big "Ahhhhhh". I hope the student doesn't expect all kids to be that cooperative.

The grandfather of my patient was actually a retired pediatrician who had more experience than I will probably ever gain, and he seemed to think I had done a decent job (bloody nose notwithstanding), so maybe the students won't be so afraid to examine kids in the future. It makes me grateful for the awesome teachers that I had during my training and even now, who are willing to impart a small piece of their knowledge. It also makes me grateful that my job involves ducking spit balls and cleaning up bloody noses (or as the patient preferred to call it, "a zombie attack") instead of pushing papers and sitting in meetings. Is your job this fun?

Ever upward

Last night's Theology on Tap featured Olympian Rebecca Dussault talking about the similarities between training to be a world-class athlete and training our hearts, minds, bodies, and souls for "athletics" of a different kind. As we marvel at the Olympians right now in Sochi and the sacrifice, dedication, heartache, and triumph, it's amazing how many of these lessons apply to our daily lives.

First of all, there are many different types of athletes. I liked this distinction. As an athlete, I appreciate the perseverance, sacrifice, and dedication required of reaching physical goals. But I know not all people relate to that, and the more out of shape I become, the harder it is to identify as an athlete. Rebecca reminded us that you can be a spiritual athlete, mental athlete, emotional athlete. Merriam-Webster defines an athlete as "a person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports, or games requiring physical strength, agility, or stamina". Take just the underlined part. An athlete is someone who is trained or skilled in anything requiring strength, agility, or stamina. Taken that way, almost anything can become an athletic pursuit. Not only can, but must. Prayer, fasting, altruism, selflessness, learning, mastering a new skill, ingraining a habit, anything requiring discipline. As someone who hates to lose (and knowing that God has instilled that in me), I can turn any pursuit into a "sport".

That being said, we can apply the principles of athletic success to these pursuits. The awareness of what gifts and resources we have (as Rebecca said, she wasn't built to be a gymnast or a swimmer), the enlisting of support from those around us ("coaches", "teammates", "trainers"), the endurance of hardship for a higher goal, not taking the easy road, picking yourself up after defeat, humility in success, inviting God along for the journey.

I will never stand on an Olympic podium (unless Sudoku becomes an Olympic sport), but I can be victorious over the obstacles in my pursuit of a higher goal--heaven. I can defeat laziness, selfishness, gluttony, comfort, shyness, fear, doubt. With my Heavenly Father and the Communion of Saints (both in heaven and on earth) on my side, I figure I'm a favorite to win.

Below zero

It is cold.

Not just below zero cold (which it is).

Not just close schools cold (which they did).

Not just record-setting cold (which it was).

It's wear-long-underwear-inside cold. Walk-the-dog-for-two-and-a-half-minutes-cold. Shower-just-to-get-warm cold. Avoid-anything-that-doesn't-involve-sitting-on-the-couch-under-two-blankets cold.

And yet, I have a warm house, warm clothes, money for the gas bill, and above-mentioned long underwear, safe neighborhood to walk the dog, hot shower water, couch, and blankets. So I am grateful.

And cold.