polychromatic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
polychromatic) wrote2019-08-08 07:58 pm
polychromatic) wrote2019-08-08 07:58 pm
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I love conferences.
1) I like learning and it's always great to learn about new advancements in the veterinary field or tips and tricks that I can apply to my daily work-life.
2) It's heartening to see a lecture room full of other veterinarians; it reminds me I am not alone in feeling like I can do better.
3) It's a nice excuse to visit new places I might not otherwise have gone to, especially on someone else's dime.
4) It's a vacation from work, even if it is work-adjacent.
This year's plans to aim for conferences in Hawaii and Toronto fell through, so I found myself organizing to attend one in Washington, DC during the less-than-ideal month of August. It's hot! And humid! And prone to thunderstorms! I convinced my mom to come along - why not enjoy the free hotel room and amenities (pool and exercise room for her, rooftop deck for me) and explore the sights?
Two days into the trip, we got a phone call that my grandma had vomited while lying in bed. Her lips were purple when they found her and there was significant concern for aspiration pneumonia. There wasn't any discussion to be had. My mom booked the earliest flight out of DC that she could find.
I've detailed before how I am not a good granddaughter. I can't lie and say I wasn't disappointed and sad at this turn of events, but I think it's only human. I had been looking forward to this trip, being able to "give" my mom something and letting her have a relaxing, stress-free week. Lee - one of her "kids" - had been looking forward to spending time with her and showing her his new place in New York. But also I understood that there was no question that she had to go home; this is her mother, the only parent she has left. I would have done the same in a heartbeat for my mom and my dad.
I offered to return home if needed, but truthfully there wouldn't be anything I could do, so I stayed behind knowing that I might have to leave in a hurry should things take a turn for the worse. I didn't sleep at all that first night, a mess of disappointment and worry, sad for my family, upset with myself. I'd text my mom mid-day for an update and call when the conference was over for the day.
And then there were the two mass shootings in the US within 24 hours.
To be fair, everyone around me seemed unfazed. I sat in a small Ethiopian restaurant across the street from my hotel, watching reporters give updates on the estimated number of deaths and injuries. I watched as the authorities in El Paso praised the power of prayer and discussed a manifesto indicating it was a racially motivated attack. I was eating alone and so was focused on the broadcast; everyone else seemed to be having a regular night, engaged in normal conversation.
I squeezed in as many sights as I could in what seemed to me like unbearable heat. I became increasingly aware of the police presence, even at the conference itself. I became grateful for the metal detectors and x-rays at the museums along the National Mall. I observed the many American flags flying at half-mast, a heightened appreciation that I was in very public and crowded areas where there would be little to no cover should someone decide to open fire.
The museums I visited did not sugarcoat the oftentimes dark and unsavoury details of American history. I almost physically recoiled reading about the American response to the plight of the Jewish people during the Holocaust. I was appalled at the repeated exploitation and breaking of treaties with the Native American population. The brutality and injustices suffered by the African-American population asking for equality was infuriating and heartbreaking. Sitting at "The Segregated Lunch Counter" interactive exhibit was disheartening; I could never have had the bravery to risk everything the way these young people did, yet what choice did they have?
Certainly a week of reflection - not just on me as a veterinarian, but as a daughter, granddaughter, and human being.
There is so much more that I can and should be doing.
1) I like learning and it's always great to learn about new advancements in the veterinary field or tips and tricks that I can apply to my daily work-life.
2) It's heartening to see a lecture room full of other veterinarians; it reminds me I am not alone in feeling like I can do better.
3) It's a nice excuse to visit new places I might not otherwise have gone to, especially on someone else's dime.
4) It's a vacation from work, even if it is work-adjacent.
This year's plans to aim for conferences in Hawaii and Toronto fell through, so I found myself organizing to attend one in Washington, DC during the less-than-ideal month of August. It's hot! And humid! And prone to thunderstorms! I convinced my mom to come along - why not enjoy the free hotel room and amenities (pool and exercise room for her, rooftop deck for me) and explore the sights?
Two days into the trip, we got a phone call that my grandma had vomited while lying in bed. Her lips were purple when they found her and there was significant concern for aspiration pneumonia. There wasn't any discussion to be had. My mom booked the earliest flight out of DC that she could find.
I've detailed before how I am not a good granddaughter. I can't lie and say I wasn't disappointed and sad at this turn of events, but I think it's only human. I had been looking forward to this trip, being able to "give" my mom something and letting her have a relaxing, stress-free week. Lee - one of her "kids" - had been looking forward to spending time with her and showing her his new place in New York. But also I understood that there was no question that she had to go home; this is her mother, the only parent she has left. I would have done the same in a heartbeat for my mom and my dad.
I offered to return home if needed, but truthfully there wouldn't be anything I could do, so I stayed behind knowing that I might have to leave in a hurry should things take a turn for the worse. I didn't sleep at all that first night, a mess of disappointment and worry, sad for my family, upset with myself. I'd text my mom mid-day for an update and call when the conference was over for the day.
And then there were the two mass shootings in the US within 24 hours.
To be fair, everyone around me seemed unfazed. I sat in a small Ethiopian restaurant across the street from my hotel, watching reporters give updates on the estimated number of deaths and injuries. I watched as the authorities in El Paso praised the power of prayer and discussed a manifesto indicating it was a racially motivated attack. I was eating alone and so was focused on the broadcast; everyone else seemed to be having a regular night, engaged in normal conversation.
I squeezed in as many sights as I could in what seemed to me like unbearable heat. I became increasingly aware of the police presence, even at the conference itself. I became grateful for the metal detectors and x-rays at the museums along the National Mall. I observed the many American flags flying at half-mast, a heightened appreciation that I was in very public and crowded areas where there would be little to no cover should someone decide to open fire.
The museums I visited did not sugarcoat the oftentimes dark and unsavoury details of American history. I almost physically recoiled reading about the American response to the plight of the Jewish people during the Holocaust. I was appalled at the repeated exploitation and breaking of treaties with the Native American population. The brutality and injustices suffered by the African-American population asking for equality was infuriating and heartbreaking. Sitting at "The Segregated Lunch Counter" interactive exhibit was disheartening; I could never have had the bravery to risk everything the way these young people did, yet what choice did they have?
Certainly a week of reflection - not just on me as a veterinarian, but as a daughter, granddaughter, and human being.
There is so much more that I can and should be doing.