David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Driven

David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Driven

aka: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the OR

aka: All Cars Should Be Bumper Cars


I cannot stand early mornings.

I think it evokes painful memories of me being 17, getting up at "it's still dark" hours to get to high school two hours before everyone else for an extra credit class called TOK, or Theory of Knowledge - a class where I've driven an icy, barren, labryinth of destitute Regina Saskatchewan streets to make it to a class where we discuss "what is thinking" to an extent that would make a PhD in Philosophy candidate groan from the self important curriculum aggrandizing.

...

Or maybe I'm just lazy.

...

The point is, early mornings are terrible.

In medical school, we are sent on a series of rotations. These are essentially a number of 6 week internships to expose us to a variety of specialties, to help us decide what type of doctor we want to be when we (if we?) graduate. It's quite an effective system, with just the right amount of length to inspire us if we're interested, and not long enough to torture us if we aren't.

Well, depending on how much we hate mornings.

The past six weeks I have been on my Subspecialty Surgery Rotation - this is when we learn about cardiac surgery (heart), otolaryngology (ear, nose and throat), neurosurgery (brain). The wondrous thing we really learn about surgeons?

Working an 11 hour day is actually considered light work.

A 6am to 5pm shift is when we are lucky.

And a 6am morning means AT LEAST a 5:15am alarm - which, given my well worn strategy of hitting snooze at least 4 times, leaves me about 15 minutes to rush to the hospital without forgetting my pants.

Usually.

The orthopods, the bone doctors? They work the hardest. And I don't mean anecdotally, I mean given even the possibility of an alternate funding plan (AFP) where doctors usually work less for the same amount of money, orthopaedic surgeons actually work LONGER hours.

Which means earlier mornings.

Crap.

The force that pushes the orthopods is incredible - the hours needed to see all their patients, the physical strength to pull a man's spine back together, and a special sort of determination that pushes them forward, that I could have never predicted.

In the short two weeks I spent in orthopaedics, I was ashamed at the frustrations I started to develop. Almost angry, as I, perhaps for the first time, felt patient's damned themselves to their own fates.

At about 11 AM, word came in of a severe MVC (motor vehicle collision) that involved three people. Alcohol was heavily involved, no seatbelts were worn, and all three people were thrown out of the car.

Only one survived to the operating room.

Spinal fracture, brain damage.

I had seen workplace accidents, falls from trees, bad turn signalling, and explosions and oil factories - but I had never seen such raw, self destruction. The complete devastation of life over a bottle, a key, and a bad decision.

I reflected on this as I watched my preceptor and chief resident - they remarked how sad it is, perhaps even had a moment of empathy before getting to the work. In the hopes of ensuring the patient would be able to walk again, they had to effectively, carefully, piece together a broken spine. During a a scraping of her spinal cord that had to be completed, her blood sprayed towards my face in what was clearly a great way to elevate my spirits.

I asked to walk away to wash up and cross my fingers that I didn't contract HIV or something.

Later that day, a many in my preceptor's hometown drives into a middle school. Three young students are pinned under his car. One girl, the most hurt, is sent the our hospital to the pediatric orthopaedic surgeon. Her broken body I can only imagine fought with every pulse to survive another moment.

She didn't.

I can't stand mornings. I can't stand the self destruction. I cannot face another alarm where its only beckon is the prospect of another day of misery.

And the surgeons press on. Persevere. To the next case. Another few hours. Answer the pager, help the next patient.

As people drive themselves into broken fates, the surgeon is driven to rebuild a delicate, fragile future.

And perhaps that is enough reason to get up in the morning.

...

My sister called me today. She was driving on the highway, spun out of control. As she describes it, she turned 180 degrees, facing down a semi truck.

Which stopped before it hit her.

Thankfully.

Though...

I saw a patient last week. A 17 year old kid.

Getting up at the "its still dark hours" to drive an icy, barren, labyrinth of destitute Edmonton Alberta streets.

He slides on a patch of black ice.

His truck flips. 

In the OR, I see his spine. Fragile.

Gone.

In assessing him post operatively, I find out he has lost all sensation in his lower limbs. He is paraplegic.

His 18th birthday is the next day.

He smiles at me.

He presses on.

We talk about video games. Netflix.

We talk about his birthday.

Tomorrow.

Driven towards a bright, new, morning.

- David

This was written as a Reflective Narrative Assignment for my Subspeciality Surgery rotation. For my reflective surgery assignment, I decided to create an Orthopedics related post for my blog. The topics on my website are based on my thoughts and reflections as a student of medicine, in a series I call “David Poon and the Road to Medical School.” They are all inspired by specific instances and observations during daily ward life. No confidential or identifying information is ever presented. The concept is similar to Parallel Charting, though in my case is as much an introspective on public perceptions of medicine than the medicine itself.

David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Hypnos

aka Why I Took Classical Mythology AND Medical Terminology in My 2 Years of Premed

“Why did Michael Jackson die?” I asked sincerely.

A short silence, then an almost amused sigh. My senior physician replied candidly,

“Because he didn’t have an anesthesiologist.”

…

Heath Ledger, the famous actor, apparently had such difficulty sleeping when playing the role of a psychopath, he inadvertently overdosed on anxiolytics (pills to calm a person). Within a the span of a few months, the death of songstress Whitney Houston was followed by celebrated painter Thomas Kinkade, both, apparently, to similar medications, as well as suspected heavy alcohol use.

And of course, the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson famously was “killed” (according to the courts) by his physician, a cardiologist, when he was given propafol to help him sleep. Propafol, a powerful and common anesthetic, is used to keep patients sedated during surgeries, where Michael Jackson’s heart doctor used it to get him to sleep. The man who made Thriller died suffocating, as he was so heavily sedated he couldn’t breathe.

This is what the public learns about anesthetics.

 

Pop culture has pervaded our common sense in a variety of medical facts. Many of the populous truly believe an atrocious number of myths, from fallen food being unable to attract dangerous pathogens due to an inane “Five second rule,” to being under the impression that slamming one’s fist into someone else’s chest while yelling “Live, damn you, live!” will bring anyone back to life should it be a dramatic enough point in the story.

I’d be remiss if I did not say I am subject to these eccentricities myself. 

While it is a widely known fact that medical students are heavy drug users – caffeine is our lifeblood after all – it’s an odd secret that many of us are so wound up from the large amounts of stress, challenge, and coffee that we are faced with that we have trouble sleeping. So zopiclone (a sleeping pill), Ativan (an anxiety pill), and other calming drugs are used more often than we’d admit. I myself use the occasional sleeping pill during a bout of insomnia. And I’ve been terrified quite a few times because of what I see on the news.

And I’m supposedly well educated on the subject (though I’m sure many of my professors would doubt that!)

So I wonder – how does any patient unfamiliar with pharmokinetics face a time where they must receive anesthetics? Before a surgery, does the man fear the sensationalism presented to them from the media, with his favourite pop stars dying from commonly used medications?

During my surgery rotation, we spend a few days doing anesthesia – that’s the doctor who puts the patient to sleep while the surgeon essentially cuts open their bodies. The anesthetist is actually the one technically responsible for the patient’s life during surgery; not only does he or she make sure the patient is unconscious, immobile, and amnesic during the procedure, but the anesthetist monitors the vitals (heart rate, breathing rate) and gives medicine to keep them stable. Legally, if a patient crashes or dies on the table, the anesthetist, not the surgeon, is typically primarily responsible.

This is why the anesthetist has a thorough discussion with a surgery patient before a procedure. I’ve seen many of these over the past few weeks. The doctor typically describes the anesthesia as a very deep sleep, or the anesthetic as a very strong sleeping pill. They cover the risks of having these medications, such as feeling nauseous, feeling sore, feeling weak, and of course, the small but very real possibility of in fact, “dying on the table.”

Which brings me full circle to the base topics of anesthesia. Awake and life.

Sleep.

And death.

With a recent patient I saw going to surgery, a kind older woman having a hernia repaired, watching the propafol blissfully cause the patient to close her eyes, I could think of no more fitting words than those of Homer, the Greek poet:

 "There she encountered Sleep, the brother of Death." 

Quite suiting is that these words are from the Iliad, an epic poem depicting a great battle of high stakes. Much like the Illiad, a patient faces her fears, challenges myths, and is literally set upon a stage of life and death, with only the chance of waking up  being the sole distinction from sleep and its brother.

Thanatos was the Greek embodiment of death, and in these legends, his brother was in fact Hypnos, the personification of sleep. So close are they seen in the popular culture of humanity, that artists ranging from the aforementioned Homer to current day rapper NaS, where audiences are told “… never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.”

With this continuous cycle of myth surrounding sleep and death, there will always be the air of tragic hope whenever our eyes close. As we face the medications and surgeries to save our lives, in many cases all we can wish is to awaken once again.

Or, in the immortal words of Kenny Roger’s ‘The Gambler,’ “And the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”

Anesthetists in many ways are the keepers of this mythic symbolism. They bring about sleep, and they can fend off death. They are the first voice to awaken the patient after surgery, therefore in some sense, bring about life. With every patient they see to the operating room, they define a journey that some may not survive, though a great many more pass. And like any great odyssey, this is a journey taken out of necessity to live a dream of better health.

Perhaps this has all already been said eloquently: as Hamlet ponders the mortality and morality of man, he muses,

“To die; to sleep; To sleep; perchance to dream.”

- David

This was written as a Reflective Narrative Assignment for my Surgery and Anesthesia rotation. For my reflective surgery assignment, I decided to create a special Anesthesia related post for my blog. The topics on my website are based on my thoughts and reflections as a student of medicine, in a series I call “David Poon and the Road to Medical School.” They are all inspired by specific instances and observations during daily ward life. No confidential or identifying information is ever presented. The concept is similar to Parallel Charting, though in my case is as much an introspective on public perceptions of medicine than the medicine itself.


This was written on 3 hours of sleep and South Park playing in the background. 


The Avengers movie was incredible - I originally wanted to name this post Thanos. 

An International Student's Road to Medical School

When we think of Asian medical student, we usually think of highly pressured shells of social liveless calculators, who are able to find a sustinance on rice, Spam, and piano lessons.

Then they kick our ass on the MCAT and become the best damn Internists and Surgeons possible.

The more liberal ones? We do family medicine through the shamed whispered tones under our family's beguilment.

Today I tell you the story of another type of Asian medical student.

The kind you don't usually think of.

The kind - from Asia.

...

Growing up, I was told about a young kid who was born in mainland China. During that time period, certain goverment policies made living difficult for people of particular educational backgrounds.

Anyone notice how politically sensitive I wrote that?

Toyin's family was unable to make a good living where he was born, so they subsequently left the small town he was born, relocate in Hong Kong when he was a child.

As the only male child in an Asian family of four children, his destiny was clear: medicine.

Bring face to the family, take them out of poverty. Medicine is to Asian people what sunlight is to flowers - life itself.

And that is where Toyin's story begins.

By the time he was 16, working multiple jobs and keeping together the shattered remains of a broken family, Toyin was sponsered by an uncle to go to Canada.

He had some family in Alberta - his grandfather came during the end of railroad construction and owned a restaurant. He was told Canada was full of gold. Full of opportunity.

That was where the future would be.

Toyin's uncle sponsered him to go to Edmonton. Shortly after he arrived, the uncle passed away.

And then the young man was alone.

Poverty stricken and alone, he worked odd jobs at restaurants and put himself through school. For a time he took work in camps, but ultimately his focus was on the same dream it had always been.

The dream of being a doctor.

He sent back what money he could to his mom back in Hong Kong, to take care of his sisters. He worked and he worked, but in an all too familiar plight,

his marks through high school were not that great. His university marks were adequate, but not super strong.

So he did what any aspireing medical student would do.

He went into pharmacy.

Complething his degree, he worked as a pharmacist for a few short years. He made good money, had a good life.

But he knew he had a dream. He knew it wasn't money or lifestyle that draws people to what he wanted to do.

He wanted to be a doctor due to the passion he had for it.

And that didn't change.

His relatives scoffed at him. As a wealthy pharmacist, why throw away time on another career?

He still fought on.

His relatives laughed at him. Was he stupid? He had a great career already, the money he needed. What else could he want.

He still fought on.

The Road to Medical School continues, irrespective of adversities. The heart of someone who wants to be a doctor, is the heart that drives someone to become a doctor.

He still fought on.

So as is dictated for a pharmacist, he did the logical - applied to medical school.

And he didnt' get in.

As if the fates were using him as a case study for medical students, his path

that had him struggle through university

that had him rejected from medicine

that had him become a pharmacist

that had him rejected from medicine again

led him to what we all know is the unshakable natural progression;

pay a lot of money to go to an International Medical School.

Having gone back to Asia, Toyin applied his work ethic to complete his MD. He found a doctor wife, and she travelled back to Canada with him.

They became married, and they started a life together.

As they were completing their residencies, an unexpected turn of events rocked their lives.

A baby boy was born.

And their lives stopped for a moment. The wife stopped her psychiatry residency, the husband stopped training to be an internist.

Family medicine. Pun and all.

Their world expanded, a beautiful daughter was introduced, their careers bloomed to be professionals well loved in their homes.

Honour was brought to their families.

A great life was built.

So much thanks to the Road traveled in medicine.

...

He became the director of a large Canadian medical organization. His family's medical business expanded.

And then...

His life took another turn.

His family broke apart.

His business went under seige.

His credibility questioned.

But;

He still fought on.

And he will never give up.

...

My father's full name is Dr. Edward Toyin Poon.

An established doctor for 25 years.

He currently is under trial for sexual assault.

He has lived a life that has spanned the world, started a family, built an empire, and helped countless lives.

All from one dream.

To be a doctor.

Today is Father's Day - a time to reflect on the male role models we have had in our lives. Whose stories have affected us in particular ways, sometimes for the better, sometimes elsewise.

Regardless of how difficult, challenging, and changing times we have in our lives, there are some unshakable truths.

We are alive. We have a mother. We have a father.

Dr. Edward Toyin Poon is my father.

He is my dad.

He will always be.

- David

David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Funny Story / Love Story

aka Poon is NOT A SEXIST

aka A Revisionist Love Letter to the Disgustingly Cute

I’m probably never getting married.

And no, hah hah it’s not just because no one would ever bother marrying me.

There are websites for that. And I have my Mommy’s credit card.

No, it’s because I doubt my non-stop repertoire of never ending wit and charm is honestly enough to convince a girl to spend the rest of her life with me.

And no, hah hah that doesn’t mean I’m going to go to men.

I mean, I’m not going to switch to men.

Cause I’m don’t need to switch.

Cause I like girls.

Not men.

No switching needed.

Cause I’m straight.

…

Italics means emphasis, not sarcasm correct?

…

Correct!?!?

^-_-^

I remember during the first year of medical school, we were all put in mandatory sessions to learn something like ‘balance in life,’ ‘avoiding burnout,’ ‘childhood obesity’ you know, generally topics that had no relevance to our careers as doctors, but we’re required to know because someone crashed and burned during school and therefore the Faculty had to institute policies to show they cared.

Hm…

I wonder if next year they are going to introduce “How not to end up like David Poon to the curriculum.”

Hah.

Who am I kidding.

They already have childhood obesity.

One thing that sticks out in my memory the most was the Faculty having one of these sessions, with a very particular piece of advice:

“Your relationships will be strained. You will be on call, you won’t see your family, your spouse will argue with you. Be prepared.”

We then hear about high rates of divorce amongst surgeons, and how women in residencies typically put off having kids.

I’m not being sexist here, I mean it’s just very difficult to have a child and not take maternity leave (not that women HAVE to), so many women choose (BECAUSE IT IS THEIR CHOICE BECAUSE THEY ARE AUTONOMOUS IN AN EQUAL OPPORTUNITY WORLD) to have children later in life (NOT THAT BEING OLDER MATTERS BECAUSE A WOMAN’S AGE DOES NOT AFFECT HER CAREER, PERSONALITY, OR MARRIAGE PROSPECTS).

Additionally, because of the nature of medicine (long hours, call shifts taking you away from home) marriages can just fall apart.

So forgive me that my relationship jadedness was further exacerbated by that little piece of advice.

Fine, chalk it up to immaturity.

When we first heard this talk, a good handful of us were probably immature too. And not just because of age, some of us just hadn’t been in a real relationship.

About six of us, me included, were 19 when we got into med.

How well do you think we could handle relationships and medicine at the same time.

I mean really, if I can barely handle girls now…

How well do you think I could handle women 4 years ago?

And just to clarify….

I don’t mean handle women physically.

Cause I’ve never been allowed to.

I mean, handle them emotionally.

Not that they NEED to be handled per se…

Cause they’re not objects.

To be objectified.

Cause independent creatures don’t need handling.

Cause they don’t need to be controlled.

Cause they can’t be.

Not that women should be controlled!

Cause they’re not animals!

OR CREATURES FOR THAT MATTER!?!??!

I’M NOT A SEXIST!!!!!

I’m heterosexual!

NOT THAT I FEEL THE NEED TO REASSERT THAT EVERY TIME I MEET NEW GUYS.

AND I DON’T MEAN “GUYS” LIKE MEN.

AND I DON’T MEAN “GUYS LIKE MEN”

CAUSE I LIKE GIRLS.

…

I met this half Asian, half not Asian girl my first week of med. She was the same age as me (and therefore TOO OLD FOR ME TO DATE), and I thought she would be a great friend to me.

Luckily, this half breed girl had a broken leg, so couldn’t run away from me. Which I guess in retrospect makes her the perfect female in my books.  

In short she met this half Asian, half not Asian boy a few months later. They got married recently, after years of dating.

At any wedding here in Canada, convention states that the ‘dinging’ of a class with a utensil demands a kiss from the newlyweds.

Course in the marriage of two half breeds, there is really only half convention.

So at their wedding, we ding our glasses – but before they would kiss, the requisite was a “funny story’ about the couple had to be told.

There were naturally the tearful stories of friendship from the bridesmaids (not that women only cry) and the plethora of sexual innuendos from the groomsmen. The drunk uncles (made much funnier by the fact that that they were drunk ASIAN uncles) held the spotlight whenever baby stories were needed.

Missing something though.

These two people… they met in medical school

Now, I started with both the half-breeds, and realizing that my entire class is far too polite to embarrass the happy couple, that left me to tell the tales that were unmentioned.

Seated at the table with me was my Vice Dean of the Faculty of Medicine. Knowing that I have my fledging stand up comedy career and a “hilarious” website that confuses the copious use of punctuation marks as humour, she suggested I say something.

And as we all know, as the great medical student I am, I follow medical orders to the tee.

Believe it or not, I’m not nearly as funny as I lie to myself. My spontaneity, hidden amongst a plethora of dramatic silent beats and puns, is actually a result of planned anecdotes running concurrently with a thesaurus.

Pretty much, I had to think of something.

And I thought…

Definitely talk about their public displays of affection (PDA).

One of the bridesmaids mentioned how over the first few weeks, the girl slowly started sitting in the front row to be next to the boy.

I sat in front row too.

I think it’s safe to say I started moving towards the back.

I doubt I’ll ever be able to wash the image of him functionally GROPING her scalp in front of all 140+ of us in class one day.

It’s like how in a movie theatre, you expect people having sex to be doing it in the back.

So you sit in the front, so you can see the movie in peace.

Except in this case, replace movie with fundamentally important mandatory learning, put the innocent bystanders in the back, and place disgustingly cute somewhere in the unavoidable in between.

Oh oh, and I got to mention one time they invited me to go to the park with them.

She, in her short shorts, and he in his tank top…

… touch Frisbee has forever been scarred in my mind.

Emphasis on the word touch, incaseyoumissedit.

But I scrapped that idea for a speech, cause honestly, I embarrassed the couple enough for potentially accidentally buying them some sort of softcore porn called ‘Young Doctors in Love’ as a wedding gift instead of a toaster.

I figured it would be hot enough in the old breadmaker.

Get it?

A pun.

Like toast.

…

But then it occurred to me that the funniest story may be the oddest one…

The fact that the story existed at all.

I wanted to tell the story of a girl from a small rural town in Alberta. She dreamed of bringing back to the isolated communities, yet ironically grew up alienated from her own family as she grew older.

How through sheer determination, she became the top of her class over and over again despite circumstances dictating that she would have to do it alone.

How at 19, her work ethic and focus led her to medical school. And led her to meet her future husband.

I wanted to tell the story of how she inspired me. A girl no older than I, with far fewer supports and privileges, who overcame nigh unbearable odds.

Who ultimately had the courage to rely on her future husband, even if she didn’t know it at the time.

While I struggled and fought, kicked and screamed, cried and hurt alone,

she opened her soul that had been so long neglected, gave her heart to a man who at times seemed solely to exist to hold it.

She was young like me

but brave.

As my own life collapsed, I could not find my peace. My devotion to medicine overpowered my responsibilities to myself.

As her life fell apart, she gained new strength in medicine – her partner, in her class, could share her every pain

from losing her first patient

to delivering her first baby.

Whether she was next to him in first row, or away from him for a year in Rural Family medicine, her strength, her inspiration, her capacity for and from the person she loved made all the difference.

…

I wanted to tell the story of a girl who knew the value of something I will forever regret not knowing the value of sooner.

She knew the value of love.

The power of an unconditional bond in the darkest of moments.

The pleasure of going to class with someone you know you want to spend every moment of your life with.

The end of call shifts, collapsing beside a person who, despite staying up for the past 26 hours plus, is never too tired to hear you whine, complain, or most importantly, cry.

I dinged my glass.

Got up to the microphone.

The groom said, “Now I’m scared. Is this about a toaster?”

My classmates smiled, “Maybe he’ll say something funny… for once.”

I started;

“Funny story.

Med school was wrong.

You can find love.”

In between the public fondling, grossly absurd public displays of affection, and sometimes just sickeningly cute couple talk;

I realized how they made each other stronger.

In every painful experience on the wards, there was another experience that the couple could share.

Within the madness of choosing a specialty for their individual futures, they understood how simple their decision really was, simply because what mattered was already there; they were together.

The stress of medicine didn’t tear them apart.

It bonded them together.

In a profession where the darkest moments of despair consume you…

In palliative care, where an old man watches his wife become decimated by cancer.

In neonatal, where a young couple prays for their first born.

In the wards, where some kid plays with his DS while her bedridden grandpa sleeps another day away.

In the ICU, where the solitary beep of the heart monitor is your patient’s only companion.

You learn the value of love.

You learn to appreciate it.

You learn exactly what it means to find it.

And you learn exactly how beautiful it is to have it.

On the Road to Medical School, we were all prepared to compromise on our emotions. We were all ready to sacrifice our happiness for our careers, our relationships for our goals.

But I saw something different.

I saw the impossible.

I saw four halves make a whole.

And I am truly blessed to have witnessed such a spectacle.

Funny story.

I figure I’d like to get married someday.

Just, after I get my MD.

I’m fully Asian, after all.

- David

Site Updates: Wacky banter, late updates, and advertisments.

Falling... asleep.

Will be posting a new chapter in the Road to Medical School with in 24 hours. 

I know, I know, I keep putting it off. 

But at least I'm not off putting.

...

Well, maybe to the ladies.

I posted a newPOON Classic (totally ironic, late/new, GET IT?!?!!?!) describing my deft experiment with sleep. 

Also, a few new points regarding doyoubelieve.ca itself:

My sister felt the need to start "defending" herself in my Tweets that may be somewhat "totally incorrect." 

Since she and I have pretty enjoyable banter when she is COMPLETELY WRONG I figured I'd let her have a concurrent Twitter feed to keep me "h

onest."

Or to "quote" "her" for the "truth"

"Everything my brother has said about me is a lie."

Sheesh, if she was always around I'd never get to date a girl.

Heck

if she spoke up about my thoughts

I doubt I'd ever TALK to one ever again. 

Then again. I still haven't. 

Someday... a pretty girl will talk to me, and it will be special. 

- David

Also advertisements. If you click, I get like, a penny. 

That's like twice my going rate on the street!

What Ever Happened to David Poon

aka Whatever Happened to David Poon
aka Goodbye Class of 2010

aka What I Wish I Had Said; What I Want to Say Now

aka How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Poon

aka WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DAVID!?!?!?

It's hard disappearing. 

To convince everyone that you're gone. 

Any good magician makes it look easy. To be somewhere, then vanish as if your presence was as transient as their bunny rabbit's dignity. 

Course, the only magic I can do is with my charm. 

...

On the ladies.

notwithstanding my magic fingers.

...

In my cooking. 

to seduce the ladies.

With italics.

Damn did I miss the Poon Blog. 

Does anyone still read this? 

I don't think even my Mommy does. 

I mean, I haven't put anything up in months. 

Get it? 

Up.

...

Up.

It's funny. 

I'm hilarious.

See how effectively I use critical rhythm beats to my humour? 

It's so clever. 

...

Honestly, I should just address the plain issue that a majority of you are reading this because you haven't seen me in an upwards of 12 months and need some confirmation I'm still alive. 

Look, the Backstreet Boys are having (another) comeback tour, and since as long as there'll be music I'll be coming back again, it's a safe bet you'll have enough Poon in your system. 

Like if I was cooking for you without a hairnet. 

Hah!

I've rebuilt doyoubelieve.ca, and now, I promise, I'll be updating the Poon Blog regularly, with major updates Tuesday and Friday, alongside daily postings. I'll keep them organized in the Pages section on the sidebar. 

It's probably a coward's way out of explaining what's happened to me over the last little while. 

Since this is the Poon Blog, I'm obligated to say I'm Asian. Therefore, using broad stereotypical generalizations, I am yellow. 

And for old readers, I would be amiss if I didn't mention David Poon: And the Road to Medical School, the EPICALLY EPIC narrative I started almost three years ago. As my wonderfully most controversial set, it chronicles the difficulty of premed life, and I've since been adding in Ward Stories, what I feel to be a very personal viewpoint of a medical student finding a sense of self in the awe inspiring beauty of the hospital. 

Anyway, I'll be keeping it going. Despite the fact that every premed in existence hates it. 

And, well, every OTHER premed in existence wants me to finish the story. 

Also, starting Tuesday, I'll launch a new series, 'What Fiction Has Taught Me," which is my own take on how Disney movies, comic books, Saturday Morning Cartoons, and Pokemon have shaped me as a person. 

If you are a nerd, it is your DUTY to read that series. 

Most importantly, to my old friends, the ones I've neglected for so long. 

I am so sorry. I will see you soon. I just wasn't ready to say hello again. 

Let me start...

It's been three months that I've been hidden away from everyone.

One year since I've been updating my blog. 

18 months since my mom, the greatest doctor I know, had a heart attack.

Two years since I've been missing from my original med class the 2010s.

...

Two years since my father, a doctor, was initially charged with sexual assault. 

Two weeks until his trial begins. 

And just about the right time for me to stop disappearing. 

...

To half of you, nothing I've said is really new. You already knew about it, from the media, or from the grapevine. 

To the other half, you just saw me get up and leave one day. I've heard some of the rumours... kinda true, not really. 

Please, let me tell you the truth. 

I know it's been on the back of the minds of most everyone I've spoken to back home in Saskatchewan. The minute it was declared a criminal case against my father, it was on the front page of the paper, all over the news, and I even found a few forum postings online about the absurdity that a Dr. Poon was charged with sexual assault. 

Heck, the absurdity of my last name is what I build my entire damn comedy shtick on. 

But it's all changed. The whispers of every friend, relative, colleague I knew in my home province, though always feebly shielded from my ears, were on the tips of their tongues and on the back of their minds. 

It was something I couldn't talk about. 

Be it for shame, or insecurity, damned confusion, or sheer debilitation, I simply could not talk about it. 

And every friend, relative, colleague I knew in my home province did their best to comfort me in their own special way. 

But...

I wasn't home. 

I was studying in Alberta, in Edmonton. 

Where the news wasn't public. 

Where no one knew. 

Where I couldn't possibly express myself. 

Where I was alone in my own dissonance. 

And I couldn't tell a soul. 

...

Today, my classmates of the 2010 class graduated. They are all doctors now. Four years ago, I began with them, 19 years old and doing everything at once. 

As time went on, and the background problems in my personal life began to surmise, I became increasingly pessimistic, jaded with the difficulties I was beginning to face. 

I coped with erraticism. 

And that is the David Poon my Alberta colleagues got to know me by. 

A new friend I got to know told me yesterday that "I knew about you David, before I even met you."

"How is that so?"

"Well, I was walking in the med sci building and two medical students were talking about you, your comedy, stuff like that."

"That's nice, what did they say?"

"Um."

"Hm?"

"Essentially some people think you're a complete idiot. Other people think you're a genius."

Honestly?

^-_-^

After the criminal accusations against my father went public, there was a very difficult period for my family regarding lawyers, accountants, and honestly every facet of my life was put under scrutiny - what worked got tested, what didn't work got destroyed. 

It was painful. It was horrific. I was lost. 

Later that year my mom had a heart attack. 

In one of the six clinics my parents owned, from the stress of the work. 

I was in Edmonton, alone. 

I'd like to tell you that I knew how to cope. I want to state, "I was strong enough to deal."

My parents divorced shortly after - my mom's health in suspense, my father's name under fire, the family business dissipating as my family broke apart. 

I want to write that, "I figured out how to put it all together. I learned how to manage healthily."

By that time of my life, I was in a relationship with someone I can confidently say I felt a bond with I have never had in my life. For two an a half years, I confided and felt for her in a manner I never believed I was capable of. 

I took out my angst, my pain, my contempt on her. An innocent Soul in my own corrupt perversion of life. I pushed her away when I needed to be close. I've never had my heart broken before, and I split my own in mad frustration. 

I want to say, "I did what I could. I made the best decisions I could."

I still don't know what I would say. 

Somewhere along the line, I left medical school. The MD I worked my entire adult life for, put on hold as I attempted to react to a world I simply wasn't prepared for. 

Naturally I learned to cope with the one skill I felt was worth anything. My humour. 

Some people just don't think I'm funny. 

I'm okay with that. 

I just hope that before I am written off as a nonsense complete idiot - that maybe the benefit of the doubt can be given that there is a reason I have been the way I am. 

A medical student advisor told me that "People can have crisises in life. They learn to deal with them. But you David, you had multiple really significant problems in a very short time span."

Another faculty member told me "I'm surprised you're still standing."

I tried. I really tried. 

...

I did not graduate with an MD today. 

And I like to think, someone noticed. I like to wonder, which of my classmates remembered I wasn't there. 

And I look over my messages over the past two years, over all the e-mails I never replied to, the texts I never returned, and the calls I never picked up. 

And it kills me that I never explained myself. 

In two weeks, my father goes to trial. Publicly. All the secrets of my family's pains will rear their ugly head.

In two days, I will go to the 2010 graduation and see my colleagues that I have avoided one last time. 

In brief, I will reappear. 

To my beloved Tenderloins, the University of Alberta MD Class of 2010;

I miss you. 

Please pass this blog link to anyone you think might care. 

Because I don't want to spend our last night lamenting pains of the past. I don't want to waste time explaining my problems, and you patiently listening, when the music is inviting, and the slideshow is warming. 

I want to reflect on the people we are, and the memories we share. 

And I'm ready to share some of mine with you. 

For all the unanswered questions, I am ready to restart the Poon Blog. Over the past year, in my struggle, I forgot the joy I had in writing. I neglected my own delights, and worse, fulminated my own grief in some bizarre requiem for my own happiness.

I think I will put that to rest now. The dead, after all, are to be buried. Life is for the living. 

I know a countless number of you have kindly given me your ears if I need to talk about it. I know I have no shortage of support when I need a friend. 

I just wasn't ready. 

Perhaps an equal number of you are just glad I'm finally addressing the issue of my father's case. I mean, me avoiding the subject was a little eerie in itself. 

Let's reconnect guys. Let's pick up and start fresh. New lives, new perspectives, new futures. 

It seems appropriate, that I reintroduce myself. 

...

Hello, my name is David Edward-Ooi Poon. Edward is named after my father. Ooi is my Mommy's maiden name. 

I'm a medical student. I'm really proud of that, cause I worked really hard. I've worked my entire life to be a doctor, and I am going to change the face of Environmental Medicine in this country. 

I'm going to take a break from med school for a little while, until my father's impending criminal court case is relatively settled. 

It's been a hard past couple of years. 

Though, it's also been pretty amazing. 

Over the past two years, I've been in Kenya doing water filtration, and in China doing Traditional Chinese Medicine. I've brought bomb calorimeters through international airports (without bribes!) and did my first real stand up comedy show at the West Edmonton Mall. 

I was a Rhodes Scholar Finalist twice, and was published by the Lancet - I learned to make biryani and food poisoned my little sister. 

I built my own Macintosh computer, and I broke a real Macintosh. 

I played video games. Without guilt. 

I competed in national business competitions. I won a few awards. Got thousands of dollars into debt. Figured out that being president of a dying business is still heartbreakingly awesome. 

I invented a game. I copyrighted a learning tool. And I think I taught a few kids something, halfway through yelling at me. 

I got a bachelors degree. 

I helped a couple premeds. And hey, to be fair - they're meds now. 

I got ALOT of premeds pissed off at me. 

I applied to law school, and realized I should be in med.

I learned to vent, and I learned to heal. 

I neglected my best friends. I remembered my best friends. 

I learned the bro code, and I learned that I have brothers where blood gave me none.

I lost my mentor. I found strength in myself. 

I learned to love. I learned to truly, passionately, love without feeling loved back. 

I learned that love changes. And that I was wrong when I felt unloved. 

I became patient. I became a patient. I learned to treat a patient. 

I mastered puns!

I realized the importance of family. The responsibilities of being an older brother to the unconditional devotion of an incredible younger sister. The unshakable, cherished bond between a mother and son, unwavering in tides of struggle or turmoil. The respect for a father. 

I stopped lamenting what I didn't have. And stood in humble appreciation in knowing what I always did have. 

In the past two years, I remembered that I am David Poon, and that is nothing to be ashamed about. I can forgo the self deprecation, and build on realistic self critique. I can do away with my endless need to be liked, and quite honestly, be confident without the need to justify myself to perceived judges. 

My responsibilities to others are not indicative of my responsibilities to their faults. My values are my own. My choices are my own. My consequences, my passions, my life. 

I want to be a doctor. I know that without a doubt now. 

When I return to medical school, I promise, I will be more dedicated and focused to the health of the human condition than ever before. 

Heh. 

I may be so bold to say that I'll be as dedicated to medicine as a premed.

Heh... get it? Bold to say it?? But in ITALICS!?!?!?!?

I'm freaking hilarious. 

...

It's hard disappearing. 

It's even harder reappearing. 

Where does a magician go when he's gone? Is he really gone or is he just unseen? 

What do we know, and does it make sense? What don't we know, and what are we missing?

In the time we see nothing, are we so focused on what isn't, that we forget to imagine what is? 

There, in these moments of apprehension, uncertainly, while we speculate of desolation and tragedy, we also wonder of hope, aspirations, and most surprisingly, theories of what exactly is happening in the background. To reassure us. To comfort us. And to give us some peace that there may in fact be some reasoning to the absurd.

The audience knows what's going to happen in the end. Whoever disappeared is obviously going to come back. 

However, 

and this is important;

any good magician will tell you that the most critical part of a disappearing act...

is in the reveal. 

...

These are my stories. 

I want to share them with you.

Take a seat, please; I'm not leaving anytime soon.

I just got back. 

- David