Some days you just need to listen to ‘Let It Go’ a dozen times in a row and hope that it works.
that’s it that’s the whole argument.
That’s literally the best way i’ve ever seen to describe it.
a series of stupidly gorgeous collections
↳ paolo sebastian a/w 2014 bridal collection [+ details]
Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia by night
"When the night comes, the starry sky reflects on its surface like in a mirror, and you have the feeling of being in space."
Felt like posting this photoset because there is a lot of joy in it. I was derping around with my niece in church while we were waiting for the bridal party to enter for my cousin’s wedding.
If there’s a lesson to be learnt from ‘Frozen’ (which I haven’t properly watched yet, oops), it is that the love between family is pure.
Texted Sophie this morning saying I needed a hug, so we met up over hot chocolate. Dark hot choc with crunchy waffle balls is always a good idea.
My flats got drenched in the rain though - hope my days get brighter soon :)
"Self portrait with Dr. Arrieta," Francisco Goya, 1820.
Wendy Smith* had thinning hair, penciled in eye-brows, and a frame so thin that you could see, in painstaking detail, the bluish-grey veins underneath her pale skin. Cancer had taken so much from her that she almost didn’t look human.
But the feeling in the room was extremely human. Fear. Palpable fear. Fear made all the more palpable because this was an aggressive, rare form of cancer. Fear made all the more palpable because she was only in her early 30s. Fear made all the more palpable because the cancer had been discovered during postnatal care following the birth of her first child.
It was hard not to detect a little desperation in her husband’s voice as he kept asking about new, experimental treatments he had read about in his own research. It chills my blood to think that the notion of single fatherhood has probably crossed his mind.
Susan James* was older and had already experienced breast cancer, which had reoccurred several times after several lumpectomies. The cancer has now reoccurred. This was not the reason for today’s visit.
Today’s visit was to tell her about the tumor in her bladder.
Her visage was blank, almost hollow. The word “surgery” snapped her out of her shock. Waving her hands, tears welling in her eyes, she said she didn’t want to hear about surgery; she didn’t even want to think about it. She had been under the knife already, a half-a-dozen times, endured radiation, chemotherapy, and now she had to consider surgery to remove her bladder—it was just too much. Too much, at least for today. The doctor, wisely, pulled back, consoled Susan, and urged her to go home, be with family for the holidays, and maybe even take a vacation. Decide in the new year. No rush.
John Peters* was different. A veteran of cancer fights, with the scars to prove it, John was nonchalant about his medical condition, nodding along to some of the doctor’s medical jargon (which I should note she only used due to her relationship with the patient, and her recognition of his acquired expertise), and tossing out some of his own. As we left the exam room, he casually asked for a syringe with some saline solution, so that he could flush out his own nephrostomy tube, which, he noted in a matter-of-fact way, had become clogged after bleeding from his kidney.
The distance between Susan and John is remarkable. I cannot imagine myself ever advancing past denial and disbelief if and when I am diagnosed with cancer. Given its prevalence, and my own family history, I can’t help seeing this as an inevitability later in life. But I’m going to be a doctor so nothing bad can ever happen to me.
There is a tendency, on the part of some, to dismiss patient-centered care—being “extra-nice” to patients is itself a nice concept, but ultimately irrelevant, and even naïve. I’ve sensed this attitude not only from practicing physicians, but also from fellow students. Intellectually, I know I should respect this view, just as I expect my more humanistic take on medicine to be given credence…
This is amazing.