This week a few friends, Andrew, Eugenie and Michael, received a bit of media attention associated with the Intenational Blog meetup day. Which is good because "they do great work". But there was a touch of regret that I couldn't be down there also. The blog community, well the bloggers I know, are a warm and inviting bunch. I guess the meetup thing made me realise how much I miss those guys and the culture which doesn't seem to exist where I am.

There seems to be an acceptance of that kind pensive culture in Melbourne and it is one of the scenes in which I feel at home. Of the bloggers I know there is a certainty integrity associated with valuing the content without losing a sense of the aesthetic. Though the aesthetic is less important than the message, the format is important in conveying the message. Though admittedly it is the friends more than the culture.

So what was I doing instead? Despite the fear of sounding like a martyr, I'll tell you. Medicine appears to be my life, either in the actual doing or supporting it. The surgeons gave us a few tips today about this very point. One of the surgeons mentioned that one day he just noticed that his family had grown up and he hadn't been there. Medicine seemed to have created a vortex sucking every aspect of life in to it. One of the cardiothoracic guys even went to the extent of saying that his first mistake in making life choices was graduating from medicine. His second mistake was specialising. Though it must be said that this was tongue in cheek. He does in fact love his work and I can see why:

On Wednesday, I held a beating human heart in my hand. Now up until this point I'd viewed the whole surgical process from an almost inhuman technical perspective. Sure it was obvious that we were operating on a person and that we were doing this to improve their quality of life. But it was more from the perspective of the complications and consequences of the operative procedure that their quality of life was viewed. The thought of holding a person's life in my hands had eluded me until Wednesday. And associated with this were feelings of nausea as the chest was being opened through to utter awe, with heart in hand. In a way you can understand how surgeons may develop a God complex. There was a certain sense of power associated with the process. Ofcourse, this also presents a danger in over-estimating your abilities. It's such a fine balance.

Hopefully the above doesn't sound conceited. I'm finding it a bit difficult to adequately explain the process and make it appreciable. I also hope I'm not losing myself in the whole process...