“Hi Mr. Brown,” I said as I entered my new patient’s room.  The old man sat in a chair looking out at the construction crew tearing down the old hospital wing.

“Doctor Brown,” the old man corrected.

“Oh, right, I read that,” I slid a chair in front of him, “How are you feeling today?”

As he began his long-winded answer, I briefly wondered what kind of person demands to be addressed as doctor outside of their role at work.  Would I be like that someday?  I seriously doubted it.  I don’t care for the attention, positive or negative.  Plus it just puts people’s guards up.  Being understated and underestimated are advantages.

I sized him up by his doctor lingo.  He mispronounced a few of the newer medicine and test names.  He knew a few things but he wasn’t a practicing physician anymore, that’s for sure.   He didn’t do what I do.

Eventually his answer wandered into relevance.

“Just a little chest pain this morning.  A little diarrhea.”

“Well, the surgeons want to hold off on your heart bypass until the colitis is under control,” I informed.

“I agree.  This body can only take so much.  Seventy-eight years.  Longer than most I guess,” he shook his head, “I used to throw around 100-pound bags when I was a kid.  Now I can’t carry a grocery bag to the door.  I didn’t have any problems until I turned sixty-five.”

Retirement age.

“Now I’m on over a dozen pills.  Four of my heart vessels are blocked.  On prednisone for the past eight years.  This may be my last week on this earth.”

“We hope not,” I smiled.

He asked where I trained, how long, sized me up.  He told me about his days in pediatrics.

“You got kids?”

“Four and six – no, ages six and eight, girl and boy,” I corrected myself, surprised at losing track.

“Ah, you’re just beginning then.  Still got time,” he replied.

“Yeah, they’re fun.”

“Enjoy it.  I worked HARD,” he paused for a moment as I imagined him in the old-school workaholic hey-days of medicine, “I took a few good vacations, but … I always planned on my Golden Years.  These aren’t golden.”

“So I’ve heard,” I replied.

“They’re the Iron Years,” he said.

“I like that,” I nodded, thinking that I’ve got to write this stuff down.

“I had my fifty-year medical school reunion.  We visited our old anatomy lab.  Saw the cadavers.  Smelled the formaldehyde.  Brought back memories.  You get to look at life in a long way.”

Memories of my own came back, probably much like his.  There are only so many ways you can skin a body.  When I was just being born, he was my age now.  I looked at him, soberly, my professionally amiable doctor mask off for a moment, physician to physician.  His eyes were as black as mine.

“Things you waited to do, you can’t do, because your body’s falling apart.  Do them while you still can.  It’s the cycle.  Someday that cadaver in anatomy lab is going to be you.  Filled with formaldehyde.”

I stood up and smiled but this time had nothing to say.

“I’m not suicidal.  Not yet.  I can’t leave my wife like that.  But I am … pretty blue.”

“Hang in there, okay?  I’ll be back tomorrow.  Maybe the surgeons will let us both know what the plan is by then, haha.  We can make you better,” I said.

“We hope.  What’s your name again?”

“Dr. Scott.”

“Sorry, you don’t need me to preach to you, Dr. Scott,” he tapped a Bible on the table.

“No, not at all.  It was very … informative.  I’m looking forward to talking to you tomorrow.”

Doctor.

“Four… five ….”

“What are you doing over there?”  Sun Su asked from over his bed.

“Sit ups,” I answered, “Seven….”

“Why don’t you go to sleep like me?”

“It’s not my bedtime and you asked me to stay in your room. You need to start going to sleep by yourself, young sir.”

“Noooo.  Don’t go.”

“Fine.  Nine….  Aren’t you excited?  First day of school tomorrow.”

“Maybe a little.”

“First day of school is fun!  New things to learn.  New desks, books, teachers.  Everyone’s so nice.”

“Why do we have to go to school so much?  It’s like half of our life.”

“So you get smarter and learn new things.  And understand new things.  So you get a good job and do things you want to do.  Otherwise you’ll grow up all wild like an animal and not know anything.”

“What if I got sick and missed school for three days?”

“Then you’d make up the work when you get back.”

“What if I missed school for three years?”

“Then all your friends would be smarter than you and you’d have to go in the little kids class.  Don’t get any ideas.”

“Hmph.”

“Seven-hundred and eight.  Seven-hundred and nine.”

“All you do is work, study, eat, exercise.  What else do you do, appah?”

“Games, well, not that much lately.  I play with you guys too,” I added.

“Not that much anymore, appah,” my boy corrected me.

I stopped.  Flat and floored.

“I know, Sun Su.  I just have to study a lot until my test next month.  October 21.  After that, I won’t have to study.  We’ll play a lot more after that, okay?  I’m almost done.”

“…”

“APPAH!  When are you coming to my room?!” my little girl called from her room across the hall.

“Be right there, Baby,” I answered.

“I have to tuck Ooseung in.  You’ll have a lot of fun tomorrow.  I love you.  Go to sleep,” I kissed him on the forehead.

“I can’t sleep.  The crickets… they’re… bothering … me….”

Then he was out.

I walked over to my little girl’s room.  She was in her bed, lying crooked as usual, smiling at me upside-down in the dark like a Cheshire cat.

“I can’t wait to go to school tomorrow!”

So, five days post-Comic Con and a few things from it are still bouncing around in my cranial space (for once not a boob joke).

First off, the celebrities.  I walked right by six or seven of them barely realizing it.  They all tend to be in a hurry in the opposite direction you’re going.  Saw Thomas Jane in the hallway – I love his movies but I could not believe how short he was.  His bio says 5’10″ but that’s got to be in heels or on phonebooks.  Saw Dennis Miller on the street – he looked the same.  Ron Perlman (Hellboy) was thinner than I expected and kind of bent over like his health was suffering.  Kevin Sorbo (Hercules) looked the same.  Jeremy O’Connell and his entourage passed by; he’s quite tall.

Kevin and I sat in the discussions for writing and drawing (and one for digital coloring to save our seats and avoid another line).  I felt kinship with the artist as he described the thought process while pencilling Wolverine’s heavy frame and gave solid advice to draw from real life (i.e., references).  Hearing comic book writing legends like Marv Wolfman, Terry Moore, Brian Michael Bendis, and Mark Waid talk about how they get from Point A to Point B in their work was inspiring to say the least.

One writer said that he procrastinates with his writing every day, but once he starts, he remembers how happy it makes him and wonders why he didn’t get to it in the first place.  Brian Michael Bendis said his best thoughts come with cardiovascular activity, like biking.  Marv Wolfman had so much to say in his hour that he ran out of time before he ran out of cards.  Some of the writers were well-disciplined in their approach (reminded me of writer friend Jim Valvis‘s dedication).  Others were kings of last-minute procrastination.

The very last panel discussion on our last day at Comic Con turned out to be my favorite though.  It was run by Eisner award winning Fables creator, Bill Willingham, a favorite writer, artist, and inspiration of mine since the first Elementals comic came out in 1984 (I was 14).  I used to copy his line work back then.  It might be why I kept drawing in the first place.  From those lines to this one.  The wait was about 40 minutes, near the end of which, Mr. Willingham himself walked by, noticed the gap in front of us, stopped, and asked us directly:

“Hey, why’d they stop the line with you guys?  Is this line for the bad people?  You guys don’t look bad.”

“…”

I was thinking: “Oh my God, Bill Willingham is talking to us… directly!”

Kevin was thinking:  “Who is that guy?  Does he work here?  Why does he care?”

“Oh, they just separated the line here to keep the exits clear.”

“Ah, okay,” and he hurried into the conference hall.

“That was him.”

“Who?”

“Bill Willingham.  The guy talking to us.  The one we’re in line to see.”

After 25 years of idolizing the man … that was pretty cool.

The panel itself was by far the funnest hour of the trip.  Bill Willingham is hilarious, a top showman.  As a bonus, seeing Matt Sturges up there was a world’s colliding kind of moment.  I remember him from his early journal days, deftly writing about  his angry yellow shirt, performing novels in your head, and the hair in his ears.  Now he’s a writing sensation at DC Comics, authoring Jack of Fables, House of Mystery, Midwinter, Office of Shadow, and a lot more.  He even wrote me into a page of his Blue Beetle comic back in 2008.

As always, there were a couple of oddball questions, like the tiny girl with big words asking when is a fable too new to become a Fable.  Matt answered without missing a beat, “Like Knight Rider?” Another so-called “fan” dropped the Race Bomb regarding the lack of African fables.  It’s such an unfair question sometimes, considering some of the best creative works come from a writer’s personal experiences, the writing equivalent to drawing from real life.  Not to mention Fables has featured some great Arabian and Middle Eastern stories and heroes in a time when Middle Eastern prejudice is highest in this country.  Chris Roberson answered the question with an enigmatic, “Read my next issue of Cinderella.”

Anyways, we also met Cindy Pon, another long-time blogging friend, recent pirate queen of the far seas, and author of Silver Phoenix (and upcoming Fury of the Phoenix), a Chinese-themed adventure story with glowing reviews.  It’s the one book in the Young Adult section that doesn’t have any fucking emo vampires in it or on it.

During a writing panel, Cindy asked,

“How’s the writing and drawing going?”

“Eh.  On hold this year for my board exam.  Studying,” I answered.

“… Gaming.”

“…”

Sometimes you can know someone too fucking LONG.

All in all, this vacation made me realign my own goals and external and internal impediments to them.  Talk is cheap though.  Inspiration is nothing without perspiration and determination.  A life-changing moment only means something if it lasts longer than that moment.  A point without a line doesn’t get you anywhere.  It’s either the beginning of a new path or just an ending to a sentence.

[Click to see picture that Amy rejected]

Sidenote: My local comic book store, Vault of Midnight, actually won the Will Eisner Spirit of Comics Retailer award this year.  That was neat too.

“I am never going to one of these things again.”
– Amy,
May 2010 at the Motor City Comic Con

We booked the hotel for the San Diego Comic Con relatively late (as in two months ago) and hence had to pack two kids, Amy, myself, and cousin Kevin in a tiny one bed, single room at the (Dis)Comfort Inn.  But like the superhero saying goes: With great awesomeness, comes a lot of shit.

COMIC CON TIP #1:  Buy your convention tickets early, like within a month that they go on sale.

COMIC CON TIP #2:  Make reservations for your hotel and plane tickets the month you buy the convention tickets.

The first half day before the San Diego Comic Con opened, we went to Sea World (only 8 miles from the convention center – thanks for the suggestion, A).  The kids loved it.

(Click pics to enlarge.  Hover mouse over pic for invaluable commentary.)

After Sea World, it was off to Comic Con.  The line for our badges was short.  The line to get into the actual convention area was three hours in a large but stuffy hall.  My underrated superpower, Diminished Sense of Smell, was incredibly useful here.  (Amy’s superpower, Ajumma Rage, continued to charge exponentially though.)

When we finally entered the main area of the convention (the Exhibit Hall), I was greatly relieved to find the crowd surprisingly sparse for the first half hour.  But after that it was like cramming through the “popular crowd” congested hallways in high school all over again, if the popular crowd was ruled by geeks and cosplayers that is.

COMIC CON TIP #3:  If you want to get in the con as soon as the doors open, you will be waiting in lines.  If you want to get in AFTER the doors open, almost no lines and almost no difference.

COMIC CON TIP #4:  For the inevitable lines (for big celeb/movie panels), bring something to read, a laptop, or mini-gaming device.  Food is good too.

COMIC CON TIP #5:  Wear your most comfortable shoes ever.

I found some great Justice League Unlimited figures that I’ve been missing.  I walked right by Blair Butler from G4 (who looks better in person) doing an interview.  Amy found some cute hats for the kids.  O0seung got caught by the Ugly Doll area.  Sun 5u got tractor beamed into the Lego area (and snagged a passcode into the Lego MMO beta, although I doubt I’ll let him play an MMO).  Over the next several hours and days, I got caught up in the costumed fans and booth babes, exhibits 1-100 below.

(Click pics to enlarge.  Hover mouse over pic for invaluable commentary and boob jokes.)

The elf girl costume above reminds me of

COMIC CON TIP #6: If you are a pretty female in a revealing costume, expect to get pictures taken of you, every minute, hour, and day of Comic Con.  Consider bringing an overcoat (a.k.a. magical Elven Cloak of Invisibility) when you really want to get somewhere without being interrupted by cameras.  (If you’re nasty looking, don’t worry about it, life rules still apply.)

COMIC CON TIP #7:  Bring a better digital camera than your iPhone.  Higher resolution and a little zoom would be nice too.  (This is a reminder for myself.)

COMIC CON TIP #8:  Do not assume the super obese guy in front of you is dressed as The Blob (from X-Men).

COMIC CON TIP #9:  Do not assume the bald guy in the wheelchair is dressed as Professor X from the X-Men either.

COMIC CON TIP #10:  Do not assume redheads in wheelchairs are dressed as Oracle (Barbara Gordon).

COMIC CON TIP #11:  If you need a quick costume, you can always go Steampunk.  Just use 2 or more of the following: goggles, overcoat, random metal plating, pocket watch, and lameness.

_____________________________

CONVENTIONAL HEROES

At one point, Kevin and I stopped to rest and eat (the last thing on your mind at the Con until you’re about to faint, seriously) in the table area.  A familiar yellow and black masked man asked us,

“Are these seats open?”

“Sure.  Go ahead.”

The Wolverine costumer and his friend Saw plopped into the chairs.

“Man, my face feels like hamburger from this thing,” he said as he removed the mask revealing an otherwise normal looking guy.  Saw guy just nodded quietly and enigmatically behind his.

“Great costume,” Kevin said to Wolvie, “How’d you make it?”

“I got the pieces from all over,” Wolvie began his friendly tale, seeming relieved at having a normal conversation out of character.  Afterwards he excused himself to get some food.

Saw guy just sat there, eventually taking off his mask too, revealing a brown-skinned bald young man.  He seemed exhausted, sunk in his chair with a thousand yard stare towards the floor.  I didn’t pester these anonymous celebrities (not such an oxymoron in this case); they’re the best part of these conventions.  Walking around in a T-shirt gets hot and tiring as is.  Wearing their gear and posing for pics all day must be a lot harder.

The unmasked Saw fell asleep in his chair within a minute.  I saw his head jerk up twice as he seemed surprised he’d fallen asleep.  Eventually, his friend Wolvie came back.

“I am so tired,” Wolvie said to Saw in low tones, assuming no one else could hear, “Maybe it’s time we take these off and actually enjoy the convention like everyone else.  We’ve been at this for eight hours already.  That’s good enough, ya think?”

I didn’t actually hear his buddy Saw say anything.  Wolvie rubbed his face in his hands.

“Yeah, ya’ right,” Wolvie sighed, “We came all this way.  And people are really digging us.  Just a few more hours.”

His plasti-mantium claws picked up the tight-fitting face mask and put it back on, as his friend did the same.  Then with a final sigh, said almost to himself,

“It’s … showtime.”

Almost instantly, a camera popped in front of them which they enthusiastically posed for.  Then another one as they walked back toward the crowds.  And another.

Poor guys.  They were great.

_____________________________

COMIC CON TIP #12: There are a lot of great panel discussions to go to.  Look through the schedule the night before, circle them and plan accordingly.

COMIC CON TIP #13: There’s actually a babysitting/child care area ($9/hour) which is good for those long lines or panel discussions.  Superheroes have kids too.

COMIC CON TIP #14: Have fun (but take your significant other back to the hotel if she gets bored out of her mind).

I still have a few more pictures and things to say about Comic Con (the panel discussions and seeing Bill Willingham, Matt Sturges, and other acclaimed writers).  To be continued in the next entry.

(picture above not directly related to entry)

July.  The most dangerous month of the year to be in the hospital, but also the month with the freshest faces.

The interns with bright coats and loaded pockets rush from room to nurse to computer to attending, trying to stay afloat in the miasmal maelstrom.

One of the new nurses pops up in front of me to discuss our patient.  She’s in the prime of her life – young, thin, chipper, bright eyed – so shiny.  Her uniform is crisp and clean like her hair.  All of this will change.

The medical students and nursing students smile just for the fact that they aren’t cooped up in a library anymore.  So eager to impress and please and get dirtied by this huge rusty healthcare machine.  As if this is the greatest job on Earth.

At the end of the day, myself and two other colleagues congregate in our little office room, finishing up electronic notes on computers and answering pages.

Finally one hangs up the phone and says, “Ack!  This is too stressful!”

“I know,” I say while double-checking patients I’ve seen today.

“I need to do something else with my life,” she continues.

“Like what?”

“I think I’d like to be a teacher or a real estate contractor.”

“A what?,” I ask, trying to understand what seems like the opposite of fun to me, ”Hahaha!  Have you dabbled in real estate before?”

“Well, no, but I love looking at new houses.”

“What kind of teacher?”

“Maybe really young kids or college aged, but not the ones in between.”

“You could volunteer in your kid’s class.”

“Yeah, but they give me a headache.  Maybe teaching isn’t such a good idea.”

“If you could do anything,” I ask my other colleague, “What would your dream job be?”

“Me?  Hmm.  Photography.  For National Geographic.”

“That is really cool,” I say realizing this is the first non-work conversation I’ve had with this colleague in our several year acquaintance.  “Do you get to do a lot in your spare time?”

“Try to.  But at the end of the day, sometimes just loading the pics off my camera is all I can muster.  The days here are so exhausting.”

We all nod.

“What would you do?” someone asks me.

“Something where I could write and draw.  And paint.  Like my own comic book,” I say to a shocked audience of two.  I wonder what they thought I would say.  Golf?  Build miniature galleon replicas?  I wonder.

“My spouse doesn’t want me to change jobs now.  ‘You’re finally out of residency and making some money,’ he says.  But this is just too much.”

“Yeah.”

“This is not my dream job,” I quietly understate against the machine.

“Ha!  More like my nightmare job.”

“One of my patients this morning, the one with angioedema,” I say, “She asked if I could discharge her first thing tomorrow morning – because she LOVES her job and she wants to go back to work that afternoon.  You know what she does?  She’s a prison guard.”

“No way!  That’s so – ”

“Dangerous and stressful, right?  I didn’t get into details, but she said it’s the easiest job in the world and she loves it.”

“Wow.”

We sit quietly for a bit while giddily basking in our commiseration and revealed dreams as if saying them aloud made each a little more tangible, wondering what it must be like to love going to work every day.

I also wonder if I said too much.

A pager goes off.  And then another.  One person rushes off to the floor, another picks up a phone.  For some strange reason, I am relieved.

____________________________

SOMEDAYS IT’S HARD TO BE A HAMSTA