love what you love

I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet

It's 9:34 on Sunday night in Portland and I think I just felt an earthquake.  Sometimes a big truck driving by might feel like an earthquake but this one lasted about 15 seconds with no truck in sight.  Maybe it was my neighbor doing construction on his house at all hours.  Stay tuned for more.

It Rains in Portland

When you hear about the rain in Portland, for the most part, it's a strong drizzle.  Grey skies stick around for about 7 months of the year so much so that when the sun even pops out for half an hour after months of grey (it's called a sunbreak), it feels like the world is right again, if only for a few moments.  Portlanders seldom bring umbrellas with them because the rain is rarely so strong as to cause much real drenching.  Well lately, it has been raining.  I mean umbrella-worthy rain.  What gives, man?

I've been watching Sunday night TV this evening, mostly cartoons--back to back Simpsons episodes and these other cartoons (Family Guy--so damn funny!) and feeding Dusty treats.  Dusty has got a hard life eating treats all the time.  I don't know how she does it.  Here is a picture of us from 1992 when I first got her.  She's so tiny, only 6 months old here.  I am 19 years old in the picture.  Dustylee is the cutest!  EVER!

This other picture is of her after she was growling at a toy so much her teeth dried up and her lips were stuck to her teeth.  Try it, it's fun.  Dry your teeth off and then roll your lips to your gums.  Take a picture and send it to me.  For real.

Sorry for the previous long hiatus.  I have been busy recovering from iron deficiency and Krista and I have been getting our office space together and it really has been something.  There are a lot of things to think about when going into business, all the furniture, medical supplies, and office supplies.  How do I do the books, do I get a separate business account and credit card?  How about a credit card machine?  How will I market my business?  After hammering out all those details, how do I want to focus my practice?  We learned so many modalities at school, had so much clinical experience treating numerous conditions, what is it that gets me excited?  So while getting the office proper ready, I have also been checking inside on how it is I want to practice.  The office is pretty much ready but am I?

Stay tuned, beautifuls.

 

Boiled Chicken and Rice

Last Thursday I woke up and found that Dusty the Lovedog could not stand up.   Her front legs were working but her back legs would not.  She was in distress and breathing heavily.  I looked at her and began to panic.  Was she in a lot of pain?  Did she have a stroke?  Was she dying?  Was there something I could do to alleviate her discomfort?  I held her and cried because I didn't know what to do.  I was really scared.  I got her up and found she was able to stand on all fours albeit wobbly.  She kept rolling forward on her back feet which pointed to a neurological etiology rather than a bone or muscle problem.  When things like this happen, I always wonder if she is literally dying right in front of me or if I am over-reacting.  I decided that she was not dying but she was really uncomfortable. 

The doctor felt she probably ruptured a disc in her back and that was pressing on some neurological structures affecting her back legs.  He gave her a steroid injection to reduce the inflammation with the idea that the inflamed part would back off her nerves and she would be able to walk again.  I really liked that idea.  The idea of steroids doesn't get naturopaths very excited but this was a quality of life issue.  If I did nothing, she would likely get better but it would have taken a lot longer and the amount of pain the injection would prevent far outweighed the side-effects of the steroids.  Within hours, Dustylee was up and walking.

Now the side-effects:  the steroids ripped through her GI system causing her to bleed from her stomach.  I figured this out from the black diarrhea she was having every 2 hours.  Poor little mama.  She also became very thirsty and very hungry.  I got more medicine from the doctor to coat her stomach and under his recommendation decided to feed her boiled chicken and rice.  This part made her wild.  She loved her new diet not surprisingly and started getting crazy with me, dancing in front of her bowl and showing me to the fridge constanly to feed her.  I liked this new behavior because it meant she was feeling better and besides she is so cute and I love that damn dog so damn much, I will do anything to make her happy.  I'll feed her boiled chicken and rice for the rest of her life if it makes her wild with desire.

I think about Dustylee's eventual passing on from this physical life into whatever happens next for her.  I think about it quite often.  It makes me realize how complex but really how simple life actually is.  The people we love are all going to die one day.  We're all going to die.  What else should we be doing but loving each other?  Sometimes it can be as simple as boiled chicken and rice.

Tom's Brother

I have to bow down and give props to my friend Kitty for writing one of the funniest damn blog posts I have read in a long time.  It perfectly describes those pristine moments where we say something so ridiculously stupid, it accidentally becomes marvelous.  By now, I have either pimped out that post or described it to 6 people who all fell on the floor laughing.  Through it, I have coined the new phrase of pulling a "Tom's brother" or of feeling a little bit "Tom's brother" today meaning, "I just said something super idiotic" or the state of just feeling generally confused and dumb.

Thank you, Kitty.  Thank you for being born and for writing this blog.  Thank you.  Tom's brother shall live on in infamy.

Pumping the Iron

Hello friends.  I am going to blame everything amiss in my life on the fact that I am iron-deficient and anemic.  When I looked up anemia in the dictionary yesterday, it reminded me that what this means is that I have a reduced amount of red blood cells.  What this translates to is I basically feel retarded constantly.  Ah yes, this explains everything.  Because I am lacking iron and red blood cells need iron to carry oxygen, I am not getting enough oxygen to my brain.  At least, this is how it feels.  How I express it is by being really irritable and easily overwhelmed.  And I cry at the least thing.  And not only do I not feel like doing anything, I also can't do anything.  The last time I felt this way, Ashley, Molly, Pretty and I were in Mexico over Spring Break, 2004.  We lovingly called ourselves Team Baja on this crack whore of a trip.  Most of the pictures taken of me on this trip I was sleeping because I was so damn exhausted all the time.  It was after this trip that i dropped the Chinese Medicine program because I could not imagine going through 2 more years of school feeling this out of my mind.

Lately, I cannot get off the couch.  And my brain isn't firing in a normal fashion.  I can't complete a thought.  I also cannot imagine getting all the details necessary together to start a goddamn practice.  You mean I have to get a stapler and paper clips?  A desk and chairs?  And I have to write a bio about myself in my imaginary practice?  Then I have to make a business card?  Get a business account for money I haven't yet made to write checks from with money I don't yet have?  It is starting to feel like a strange illusion.  I almost cannot tell what is real and what is imaginary.

(So I live in a house.  Is that true?  I have a dog.  This is true.  Isn't it?  I think I turned 34 last month.  Right?  If I remember correctly, I am Chinese and I dig girls.  Do I work at the plasma center or is that just a bad dream?  Am I really a doctor or do I just pretend to be one in a parallel universe?  If I am not careful, the fabric of reality might unravel and I might float away and never come back.  Wait a second, I have anemia, not amnesia.  Right?  Right?  Hello?)

Phew, I'm back.  I get confused easily with this lack of oxygen.  The insidious thing about it is that I might just think that I've lost my mind a little bit and not remember that I am short on oxygen.  Because I do feel just a little bit extra insane lately and it is hard to differentiate from my normal state.  For example, I hate work and I want to move to Hawai'i.  But that's normal.  What is not normal is the intensity to which I feel these things which is A LOT.  So I have to remember that I am not going crazy just that it feels like it. 

To help my body get my iron on, I have read that the best source is organ meat.  So I can supplement iron by eating liver.  Oh. Hell. No.  I will not eat liver.  Sick.  I am, however, willing to give up coffee (it hinders the absorption of iron) which is like giving up sex let me be honest.  At least if I'm not having sex, then please let me have my coffee for the love of god so you know I must be feeling bad if I am willing to give up coffee right now.  Yes, I feel that terrible.  I will also eat a lot of medium rare homemade burgers.  And consume what used to be called Liver Caps which are thankfully now called Energizing Iron supplements.  All this put together, I should be back up in no time. 

In the meantime, you can find me on the couch under a blanket trying to differentiate between reality and illusion.  Or is it all illusion anyway?  Or don't we create our realities?  I can't remember anymore.
 

i love poo

On one of my recent trips back from Los Angeles, I sat next to an 8 year old boy and his father.  We became fast airplane friends.  They told me about their recent stay in LA and how they hit all the major theme parks (Universal Studios, Knott's Berry Farm, Six Flags Magic Mountain) in just a few short days.  Reed, the 8 year old, scrolled me through hundreds of pictures of their recent adventures.  I nearly went cross-eyed because of how closely he was putting the camera to my face plus being in a flying toaster is always a little nauseating.  The Dad, Mike, kept trying to get his son to back off a little even though I didn't really mind.

After showing me all 400 pictures including a 6 minute video of the Jurassic Park ride, Reed wanted to show me his handheld game called 20 Questions.  See, I grew up with the original 20 questions..you know, boring family road trip over hundreds of miles of desert, you gotta do something with your time.  I remember 20 questions being an all right game.  This kid's little machine was quite impressive.  It would ask 20 questions about something the person had thought up.  There were buttons on the machine to give the answers of "yes", "no", "sometimes", and "unknown".  After 20 questions were up, the game would guess and either be correct or very weirdly close.  So of course, we came up with tricky objects to throw off the game.  We thought of "fog" and it guessed "rainbow".  Not bad.  Next we tried "ghost" and it guessed "fog".  Interesting.  We tried "boxers" and it guessed "panties".  Panties?  Hm.  Now the gears started rolling.  Because I was in polite company I couldn't pick anything too risque so I picked "poo".  Of course!  Naturopaths love talking about poo.  We just love poo!  At this point in our relationship, I hadn't outed myself as naturopath and I wasn't quite sure how Mike the dad was taking this.  Either, this lady's got a gutter for a brain or maybe she knows how to think like an 8 year old.  At any rate, Reed was pleased as punch about my choice of object.  The game asked us questions like, "Is it bigger than a breadbox?" and "Can you wash it?"  Also, "Can it be stolen?" and "Is it solid or liquid?"  There was no way this machine would be able to guess our brilliant selection.  In the end, it guessed "telephone pole".  Well, it got the general shape and color right.  None of the questions turned out to be relevant enough for it to follow any of its logarithms.  We had beaten the machine.  Mostly it was fun watching the kid have a kick with toilet humor.  Mike wasn't so impressed with me I could tell but he was being polite because I had chosen it.

After I told him I was a naturopath, he seemed to all of a sudden understand my proclivity toward poo.  He told Reed that I was a doctor and that I could answer any question in the world and that he should go ahead and ask it if he wanted.  (No pressure on me or anything.)  So after a moment of deep thought Reed turned to me and asked, "How much does a brontosaurus weigh?"  I loved that question.  So appropriate for an 8 year old boy.  I guessed super wrong but Reed was willing to teach me all about the dinosaurs.  He is a great kid.

It seemed our fun time would never end as we sat next to each other on our continuing flight and talked all kinds of stories.  I enjoyed watching a dad with his kid really having fun with each other.  In the Portland Airport, we exchanged numbers and emails and promised to be in touch. 

I am so Gay

"You know, Livia, you are actually a very nice person," my uncle informed me recently. 

(Several things happened in this moment that I will attempt to explain:  Chinese people have a different sense of propriety than Caucasians.  Namely, Chinese people from the old country tend to say things without stopping to think how it might sound.  In America, this habit is called sticking one's foot in one's mouth.  In Chinese culture, this moment can pass without remark.  There is no sense of embarrassment and why should there be as it was spoken exactly how it was meant to be spoken.  It is only when the American-born kids are around to catch the embarrassment and humiliation for their parents that this becomes a problem.  Being an American-born child of two Chinese parents, I am accustomed to having to quickly reword my parents' "offhanded" remarks to white people so that they do not possibly feel insulted or offended.  So when my uncle said that to me, I knew not to be offended but I was still curious as to why he would say that.  My cousin, my uncle's oldest son overheard his remark and was immediately mortified but could see that I was having fun.  My cousin decided to let me handle his dad myself.)

"Oh, uhh..thanks?" I said. 

"What I mean to say is you should think about getting your Ph.D," my uncle continued. 

(WTF! I thought to myself.  First I'm actually nice, now I need to get my Ph.D.  And I know the whole time my uncle thinks he is handing me compliments.)

"Actually, I'm already a doctor, but I'm curious as to why you think I should get a Ph.D," I say.  "To help you solve your problems," my uncle countered.  "But I can use my life experience to solve my problems.  Why would I need to go to more school to do that?" I responded.  My uncle looked perplexed because he wasn't used to being questioned especially not by females and especially not by his nice niece.  My uncle was also perplexed because it is so self-evident to him that getting a doctoral degree is the end-all be-all that he couldn't come up with an answer and anyway isn't getting a Ph.D the most important goal for everyone?  I could see slight shock registering on his face because I was so sweetly being insolent and the tiniest fear crept onto his face because he didn't know what to do with me.  My cousin's face told me that he had had this same fight with his dad for years and that it wasn't worth the breath to try and change this old dog. 

After thinking for a few moments I realized why my uncle was surprised to discover that I am a nice person.  To understand this all I had to do was scroll through all the things he may have known about me prior to talking to me.  The only thing that came to mind is the fact that I am a girl-kisser.  For some people, the idea of homosexuality is at once so foreign and so disgusting that a gay person can only be a terrible person.  I put two and two together and knew that because of my aunt and uncle's extreme Christian beliefs, they had this idea that I must be an awful person because I love women.  In their minds, I am a superfreak for this fact alone.  How sad for them.  That they can let this one book override their better senses doesn't attest to their devotion, it shows a lack of ability to think with their hearts.  That is sad to me.

So when my uncle tells me that I am actually a very nice person, he means to say that he is suprised that a sexual deviant such as myself can actually be nice.  Glad I could shake his short-sighted concept of the gays if only for a moment.  There is no satisfying ending to what happened between my uncle and I except that I flew back to Oregon and he flew back to Tennessee and I will probably not see him again until someone dies.  Maybe by then there will be more love in his Christian heart for people who do what they want to do and love who they want to love.  That doesn't sound so disgusting to me.

A Stick on Two Stick Legs

I hung out with Mark Lee while in LA this past week.  There is something about that guy that just grows and grows on me, maybe it's his impersonation of Susan Sarandon in "The Client" that he graced me with over and over, maybe it's that he can talk about the demotion of pluto to a dwarf planet for 4 hours unprovoked, I don't know.  Whatever it is, I love that guy to pieces.

We had the pleasure of watching the U.S. Open in his hotel room.  As far as sports goes, watching tennis is one of my favorites.  The rules are easy and the action quick.  We watched the women's semifinals with Maria Sharapova and someone else.  Apparently, Maria is some sex goddess according to Mark Lee.  The more he talked about how sexy Maria is, the more I wanted to shoot the bitch down. I don't know why.  I think it was because I just didn't agree with his assessment and I wanted to see why she is so sexy to him and all (straight) men according to him.  "Is it her body?" I asked. "Yes, she has got such a nice figure and she's over 6 feet tall," he said (this from a guy who's 5 ft 6 in).  "What about her face?" I asked.  "Yes, her face is beautiful, too," he responded.  To the left is a picture of Maria's "beautiful" face.  She's always eating bananas just like this.  Hmmm..  "She's just sexy, believe me, ok honey?" my dad said.  "I guess, if you like a stick on two stick legs, then she's the sexiest," I said and he agreed.

We continued talking about Maria's attributes when I realized I was objectifying a woman with my dad and how much fun I was having.  I don't think he cared either way whether I was a homo or not, he just had to convince me of how sexy Maria was.  At one point he was talking about Maria's breasts and saying how she had "small boo" at which point I had to teach him the correct word.  "It's boobs, Dad."  "How do you spell that?" he asked.  "B-O-O-B-S," I said.  "Boops?" he asked.  "No, Dad, nevermind, it's ok, you can say 'boo', people won't have any trouble knowing what you are talking about," I said.  "Are you sure?" he asked.  "Positive," I said.

Maria went on to win the women's US Open title and my dad was beside himself.  I am happy that his stick on two stick legs won the title.  Now she can go endorse whatever other swag she wants and be the highest paid female tennis player/hussy in the world.  Here is a picture of her.  She seems like a tart a little bit but maybe that's just me.  She must have thought that pajamas were appropriate court attire and "accidentally" wore her sexy camisole onto the court.  Oh, it's hard being Maria Sharapova, the tennis-playing, banana-eating, loungerie-wearing, boo-popping stick on two stick legs.

Ancient Chinese Secret

My grandma passed away peacefully the morning of August 31st.  She was 91 1/2 years old.  That's a long damn life.  She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren as she took her last breaths.  Out of all the ways to kick off the planet, being surrounded by loved ones ranks pretty high in my opinion. I expected the service to be heartwrenching but everyone was so peaceful about it. I think that is what happens when someone lives a long and fulfilling life, the service becomes a celebration of their life.  Even clearing out my grandma's house to sell felt like a peaceful endeavor, something that happens as a matter of course.  For being 91, she really didn't have as much stuff as she could have. Even grandma's legendary stash of cash was found which turned out to be only about a thousand dollars, not the tens of thousands the grandkids had turned it into over the years.  A couple of dump runs and Goodwill donations later, Grandma's place was ready to go.  It was almost unremarkable in how uncomplicated everything turned out.  The last few times that I had visited her, she always took me aside and made a point to tell me to eat well and to take care of myself.  Her last words to me (in Chinese) were, "I'm full," after I asked if she had had enough to eat.  I will miss you, Grandma.      

While home in LA, I turned 34. It was an unexpected pleasure to be able to spend my birthday with my family.  Of all random things, my dad also happened to be in town.  In the morning, Mark Lee and I took a walk to the nearby McDonald's and we had Sausage McMuffins.  Mmm, deleeshus.  Later on, I joined my mom and finished clearing out the garage of my grandma's house and my mom took us to dim sum.  On the right is the dim sum crew, my Uncle Jim, me, my Uncle Hondu, the tall white guy is my stepdad George, my mom, and my Aunt Anna. 

In the afternoon, Mark Lee took me to gelato and to see "Little Miss Sunshine". However hilarious this movie is, it wasn't quite as funny watching it with a super science nerd like Mark Lee for some reason.  Here he is enjoying his coffee gelato.  I think he might just be the cutest human being on earth.  After the movie, Mark Lee and I met up with my brother and his girlfriend for one of my favorite meals of all time--beef noodle soup.  It's one of those meals that if I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life, beef noodle soup would be a number one contender.  That and bibimbab with kimchee or sushi.  Here we are in front of the Noodle King in Alhambra.  That's me, the shrimp sandwiched between Mark Lee and my brother, Liphan, with Carrie (my brother's gf) on the far right.

Now I'm back in Portland, back to my dumb life.  Back to not knowing what the hell I am doing, back to the godforsaken plasma center, back to how the hell do I express my innermost dr. lee?  Since leaving LA I have been wracking my brain about doing eulogy-worthy things.  So far all I can brag about is that I rode my bike across the United States and around Spain.  And I'm a doctor.  And, I have the most amazing dog on the planet.  That's it.  Oh, and who can forget my good looks and charm?  But that's it.  Bo-ring.  What do other people do?  Maybe I'll just get married and have some kids.  That seems to be a good back up plan.  Where is my hunky gardener when I need him most?

Here is the ancient Chinese secret to long life: Fruit. Simple, huh?  Anti-climactic but I think it is the Truth.  When I was home in LA, after each meal, we had fruit.  For every snack we ate fruit.  If there is anything different that Chinese people do from Americans, it is in the sheer amount of fruit that we eat.  My people really know how to get our fruit on.  For real, though.  Eat your fruit, people, you will live long time.

A Bag of Chemicals

My Dad is the smartest person I know.  I can ask him any question on physics and chemistry and he will just go OFF.  He processes questions with his computer brain and comes up with hauntingly accurate answers.  How was it growing up with a dad like this?  It wasn't that fun.  He was always lecturing my little brother and I on the possibility of some major catastrophe happening because as a physicist AND a dad, he knew the mechanics behind how a butterfly could cause a hurricane AND he always imagined his kids were getting killed in some worst nightmare kind of way. 

For the major part of his career, he has worked at NASA headquarters in Washington, D.C.  He wasn't a rocket scientist but helped design experiments that went up in space to test how humans will do when we eventually run out of real estate on Earth and move onto Space Station.  Recently, he started writing books on his ideas of the origins of life.  He now lectures around the world on his theories about life.  Mark Lee is like the J. Lo of science nerds only instead of singing, dancing, and acting, Mark Lee writes, lectures, and researches.  If you were to ask him what his books are about, he'll ask if you want the 20 minute version or the two hour version because he loves to talk about his stuff that much. 

One time I asked him if he believed in God.  His answer was simple.  It would have taken too much precision for one supreme being to mastermind all this.  Instead science has won the ultimate lottery and random chance stacked upon random chance, life ignited on the planet.  "We're all just a bag of chemicals," he contends, "just a bunch of biochemical events contained in a bag of skin."  Oooh, that makes me hot.

Growing up, I hated when he would pontificate because really, I didn't understand most of what he was saying.  As an adolescent where parents are already the least cool people on Earth, I couldn't connect with him at all.   It wasn't until my 30s (i.e. the last several years) that Mark Lee and I finally started speaking the same language.  I watch how his friends and loyal readers treat him like he's the cat's meow and I wonder how I haven't seen his amazingness until now.  My brother who recently accompanied him on a book tour in Taiwan told me they were constantly followed by paparazzi and reporters trying to get a piece of him.  I had no idea my dad was that famous.

Mark Lee doesn't worry about things like using up the world's oil for example because in a hundred years, he says, everyone who is alive now will be dead and then we are on our way to becoming fossil fuel.  He has a point.  Our bones are going back into the Earth to replenish the Earth's resources.  Mark Lee has a smart answer for everything.  I love that guy.

Here we are circa 1975 at the Grand Canyon.  The guy on the right, now that is one sexy bag of chemicals.