Santiago Ramon y Cajal

I have a folder of "heros" in my browser bookmarks, people whose life stories remind me that truly anything is possible for an individual. One of them came up this week in our primer to neuroanatomy: Santiago Ramon y Cajal. He was an amazing turn-of-the-century scientist who greatly advanced our knowledge of cerebral microarchitecture. An artist as well as a neuroanatomist, he carefully sketched hundreds of neurons before making a detailed depiction of the "archetypal" neuron of that type. Like many great scientists, he was precocious and bull-headed--my favorite story about his life is that he destroyed the gates of his small Spanish town with a homemade cannon at age 11.

Among numerous scientific articles and textbooks, he also wrote a short book called "Advice for a Young Investigator". The title seems to be a rip off of Rilke, but that was a later publisher's creation. The original title translates directly as "Precepts and Counsels in Scientific Investigation: Stimulants of the Spirit"... a bit unwieldy. However, the book really can be seen as the scientific version of Rilke's "Letters to a Young Poet": it is the sage advice of a elder practitioner on how to navigate an emotionally taxing profession. Some of it is a bit outdated; one section includes advice on how to pick the appropriate scientist's wife. It also has an interesting chapter on "Diseases of the Will", cataloging the various personality types that will fail at science: the megalomaniacs, the overly fastidious, etc. (Read it and see who comes to mind...) However, most of it is very wise, ("because science relentlessly differentiates, the minutiae of today often become the important principles of tomorrow") and occasionally it is very beautiful and inspiring: "I believe that all outstanding work, in art as well as in science, results from immense zeal applied to a great idea." Recommended reading for scientists young and old.

Politely Stabbing Grandpa

My inner boy scout came out today as I voluntarily gave flu shots at the university's geriatric center. When the organizers were asking around a couple weeks ago, I said yes right away -- because the idea scared me. I've been cutting and chiseling a cadaver for weeks now, but sticking a needle into a live person? Now that's bizarre. Yet by noon today, I had already given about two dozen flu shots.

The shot itself was easy. Sure, I had to be careful not to go too far into the muscle, a little tricky on some the frailer patients. But the needles were so small and sharp, and automatically retractable, that technically there was almost no problem at all. Talking with the elderly, however, was much harder. Some of them were a little grumpy and just wanted to get out of there. Some were happy to be there, but very hard of hearing. More subtly, though, were the little differences in customs and mannerisms. How do the elderly want health providers to dress? What greeting and level of conversation do they expect? What makes them comfortable? I also noticed that some made strange (yet well-meaning) comments about my female and minority colleagues (for example, asking the Chinese student from Detroit if "you're doing this because your culture values your elders.") You could almost compare our interactions to time-travel; I get to navigate the social terrain of 50-odd years ago.

It was a good experience, perhaps because it made me feel more like someone training to be a doctor and less like a molecule memorization machine. Also, it was good as a quick trainer for personal skills. The instructors here constantly emphasize how important they are. As a doctor, someone you have never met before will walk into your room, and within one minute has to feel comfortable getting a needle, or talking about drug use, or showing you their genitals. Failure to build that trust can lead to real medical problems, if people feel too hesitant to share some vital piece of information with you. I've got a lot to learn...

The Mollusk

Couldn't think of any medical thing to write about this week, so thought I'd write about some of my other favorite things: art and surfing. These two are nowhere more beautifully combined than in The Mollusk, my favorite surf shop in the world. If you are in San Francisco I strongly recommend checking it out. I think they have shops in Venice CA and New York also, but SF is the original as far as I know.

The Mollusk is so refreshing in its aesthetic treatment of surfing. Most popular glossy surfer mags are a battlefield of images and advertising, each trying to outdo each other with neon, lightning bolts, and over-the-top, in-your-face, Red-Bull macho aggressiveness. Maybe it's a NorCal/SoCal thing, but the Mollusk seems to take a more mello attitude towards their art, dress, and probably the way they surf. While glossy mag surfers get their boards from the mass-produced epoxy bargain warehouse, your typical Mollusk surfer probably made their own board, a single fin fish or even an alaia. Glossy mag surfers wear electric yellow rash guards and punch out locals at the most crowded spot on the beach, while Mollusk surfers probably keep a secret spot up on the Humboldt coast for naked sessions by full-moonlight. Whether it's shortboards or logs, local break or foreign trek, the Mollusk emphasize everything I love about surfing culture--grace, relaxation, beauty, and humor (SEA KAT!).

I'll through a few shoutouts to the artists and bloggers associated with that crowd, so you can see for yourself what I mean:
Thomas Campbell (go see The Present if you can)
Serena Mitnik-Miller
Ryan Tatar
Hydrodynamica
Nate Russell
Andy Davis